Always
by Trickster-jz
Summary: Trilogy - Jaina sets out to save one person, and puts into motion a great deal more than just Zekk's redemption. YJK AU, JainaxZekk, Kyp, OCs. Now complete - thanks for reading!
1. Always Intro

**Always  
By Trickster-jz**

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_(Technicals found below story info)_

**Initial Premise**: YJK AU. Five years after what should have been "Jedi Under Siege," the New Republic has been all but defeated. The Jedi are scattered, few, and leaderless. The New Empire has all the control, save over the tiny fraction that is the New Rebellion; at Brakiss' side is his Darkest Knight and protégé, Lord Onyx—once Zekk.

**Summary**: When captured by her enemies, Jaina Solo sets out to save the man she loves from himself, but puts into motion a great deal more than just Zekk's redemption. (Individual book summaries will be provided on each 'title' page to avoid spoilers.)

**Genre(s)**: drama, romance, angst, fantasy, action

**Characters**: Jaina Solo, Zekk (Onyx), Sanar Klis (OC), Kyp Durron, Devnos Klis (OC), Miko Reglia, Krista Harif, Lera (OC), Nichyn Whilem (OC), more. (_Individual dramatis personae given for each book_.)

**Books**: "Dejarik" (a.k.a. "Return of the Jedi"), "Caught in the Rain," "In the Morning"

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**Disclaimer**: _George Lucas owns the Star Wars universe, the concept of Jedi, and all recognizable characters and planets. I am not making any money off of this; please don't sue._

**Claimant**: I own all OC's (including—but not exclusive to—the Klis family, Lera, Nichyn, Krista, Veras, Braun, Kip); all unrecognizable planets (ie: Na'Lein'yhpaon); the Kavishka prophecy; customs; made-up religions; the plot; etc. I have put a lot of work into these things, so don't steal! If you wish to borrow _any_, you must e-mail ask, and credit.

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**-Tjz**


	2. Book One: Dejarik

**Always I: Dejarik (a.k.a. "Return of the Jedi")  
By Trickster-jz**

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**Disclaimer**: Kevin J. Anderson, Rebecca Moesta and George Lucas own 'em. Not me. I'm just borrowing them for a little while and I don't get paid for this. I do, however, own Sanar and Devnos Klis, and the plot. See Always' Intro (http/ for complete disclaimer/claimant.

**Rating**: PG-13

**Summary**: After her own fall and return from the Dark side, and her brothers' deaths, Jaina Solo finds herself captive to the Empire and her childhood best friend: Lord Onyx of the Sith, formerly Zekk.

**Author's Note**: This story was initially posted under the title "Return of the Jedi." For obvious reasons, I changed it.

**Note**: praise is wonderful, _constructive_ criticism is even better. Please review, or even drop me a line at my e-mail address (in my bio). I really want to hear anything – even a happy face is great.

**Note 2**: Words between / and / are spoken through a bond. Words between / and , and in italics, are a flashback. (_Edited in note: ff.n started messing with my format about half-way through "Dejarik's" posting, so at first flashbacks are between two /'s. Later they're big chunks of writing in italics. Sorry for any confusion; I'll try to keep it as straightforward as I can._)

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**_The Sith_****_ have returned to the galaxy._**

**_Led by the dictates of the Emperor long thought to be dead, they have been sweeping the galaxy in a new Jedi purge. Among the fallen are: the Jedi Master Luke Skywalker, his nephew Anakin Solo, Corran Horn, Mara Jade Skywalker the former Emperor's Hand, Jedi Knight Streen and Jedi Knight Tionne._**

**_Pursued by agents of the Dark lord and with their masters dead or dying, the students of Luke Skywalker's Jedi academy have had to learn to fend for themselves. Jaina and Jacen Solo, the eldest members of the Academy, lead the children in a now mundane routine. Their only goal is to prepare for the war that will surely come to them._**

**_Led by the Darkest Knight, Lord Onyx, the Sith sweep across the galaxy, hunting down and destroying the Jedi who dare oppose them, their final goal the Jedi Temple on Yavin 4… _**

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-Tjz**


	3. Ch1: Capture

**Dejarik, ****Chapter One: Capture**

.

"They're here."

Jacen Solo sighed at his sister's flat words and kicked himself for finding it unexpected. After five years of preparation, why was he surprised? "I know."

She raised an eyebrow at him. " 'I know'? Is that all you're going to say? Get on the comm and find Tenel Ka. Tell her...tell her to get over here and to bring Lowie."

"Right."

When he didn't move, she growled in exasperation. "Well, what are you waiting for? Do it!"

He looked at her for a long moment, not for the first time mourning the old, cheerful Jaina. "Sure, Jaya." He nodded slowly before grabbing his comlink and doing as his twin told him. Thumbing it on, he said, "Tenel Ka?"

"Yes, friend Jacen?"

For a brief moment, Jacen's eyes closed as he let the sound of her voice wash over him. _As soon as we evacuate this place, I'm going to have to tell her how I feel_, he decided. He looked up to see Jaina gathering what was left of the Jedi students into a huddle.

He sighed again, his mind drifting from the beautiful princess of Hapes. His sister had changed so much since the Empire began to take over. At nineteen, she was bowed with the responsibilities of keeping the youngest students in control. It wasn't her strong point, but somebody had to lead after he'd taken over the administrative duties.

Besides, spending time with people who didn't know that Jaina loved the enemy sometimes lessened the guilt. Children didn't know how to hate, or be prejudiced. Not yet, anyway.

With effort, Jacen turned his mind back to his task. "The Nightsisters are here."

Tenel Ka's tone was grave. "This is a fact."

"Jaina says to come quickly. Oh, and bring Lowie."

"Of course."

He knew she would end the connection then, and the Force gave him a nudge. "Tenel Ka?" he started, feeling light headed.

"Yes, friend Jacen?"

"Um…" _I love you _"never mind."

Tenel Ka missed half a beat in saying, "I will meet you and friend Jaina in five minutes."

"Right." The young man heard her com-link click out, and he banged his hand on the nearby table. "Coward," he muttered.

----

Aarylia Tisane, Jaina's unofficial apprentice, looked up at her young master. "What's wrong?" she queried, untouched by the quiet panic that was spreading amongst the other students; she trusted her master and the other adult Jedi to protect her.

Jaina flashed a quick Solo grin at the small red-head and squeezed the girl's shoulder. "We're evacuating."

Aarylia's face grew sombre as she concentrated, then her aqua eyes widened in surprise. "Evil..." she breathed. "So much Darkness." She looked up at Jaina, wide-eyed. "They're coming, Master."

Jaina glanced around before kneeling. "Yeah, they are, Aarie." She looked down, sighed, looked back up again. "I need you to be strong."

Aarylia's chin shot up in defiance, unconsciously mimicking her Master. "They will never capture us. Never."

"Well, we'll do our very best to make it so." Jaina gave the girl a last reassuring grin and then stood when she felt Lowie and Tenel Ka enter the room. The ginger furred Wookiee walked straight toward his friend, a question on his lips. Tenel Ka took her time, her athletic, willowy body encased in her lizard hide armour, as was her custom.

"Take the students and evacuate," Jaina ordered her friends crisply, not wasting a second on pleasantries as she turned to face them. "Jacen and I will cover you."

Tenel Ka shook her head once and pursed her lips, grey eyes promising retribution. "I shall stay also, friend Jaina. The Nightsisters are traitors of Dathomir and thus my affair."

Jaina's lips thinned in impatience. She had expected this. "No, Tenel Ka. Jacen and I work best as a pair. It would be awkward with you there."

"Jeesh, Jaya," Jacen remarked, trying to lighten the atmosphere as he came up to the group of Jedi Knights. "You're as blunt as a ronto."

His sister's eyes were as hard as ice. "We're in the middle of a war, Jacen. This isn't the time to be subtle."

Her other half shrugged and let it go. He didn't like it, but she had a point. He half-grinned at Tenel Ka, hoping to cool the princess' temper. "Okay then, Jay."

Tenel Ka and Jaina glared at each other and Jacen winced at the sight of fiery brandy eyes meeting cool grey. Ever since the Darkest Knight had killed Teneniel Djo, Tenel Ka's mother, Tenel Ka had been bitter and had taken much of that hostility out on Jaina. More and more, Jacen and Lowie were caught in the middle of the equally stubborn and determined young women. _Why me?_ he wondered, rolling his eyes at their posturing.

Suddenly, a black wave of Darkness washed over the Jedi, forcing Jaina and Tenel Ka to snap out of their clash of wills. Too many years of battle had taught them to snap out of minor conflicts immediately, no matter what the hurt.

Tenel Ka gritted her teeth. "Lowbacca and I will take the students to Hapes," she conceded, refusing to look at Jaina, her voice clipped. "May the Force be with you." She gave the Solo twins one last look and walked off.

Jacen watched her go, a sinking feeling settling in the pit of his stomach. For some reason, he was certain he was never going to see her again.   
  
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Jaina's lightsaber whirled as she deflected blaster bolts. She was so deep in the Force that she was only vaguely aware of Jacen fighting beside her.

Finally, she felt the Nightsisters she had sensed earlier approach. Quickly, she pulled out of the Force enough to be aware of her surroundings. "How much longer until we're good to go?" she shouted over the _ping_ of blaster fire on durasteel and the buzz of the twins' lightsabers.

Jacen paused to deflect several more shots before ducking behind a pillar and looking over to where Lowie and Tenel Ka were loading the Jedi students into the by now greatly-battered _Rock Dragon_.

Tenel Ka, seeing Jacen, yelled, "We leave in twelve minutes."

Jacen nodded. "If we don't get back by then, leave and we'll take the _Shadow Chaser_!" Tenel Ka nodded and spun on her heel into the ship.

Jacen ducked back into the corner where Jaina was. "Twelve minutes, Jaya!"

She gave him a tiny Force-nudge to let him know that she had heard, then she lunged at one of the stormtroopers. Neither she nor Jacen needed to be distracted when the Dark warriors from Dathomir came. Sensing her plan, Jacen moved until he could defend Jaina, freeing her to work purely on offence.

Jaina had just taken care of the last stormtrooper when Tamith Kai stepped into the hallway. Jaina set her jaw and narrowed her eyes. The last time she had seen the violet-eyed Nightsister, the Jedi had also seen her youngest brother, Anakin, cut down with his own lightsaber.

"Tamith Kai." She hoped the frelling daughter of a bantha froze from the ice in her voice.

Tamith Kai's dark wine coloured lips curled into something that vaguely resembled a smile. "Jaina Solo. It will be my pleasure to bring you to the Emperor."

"Over my dead body."

The Nightsister shrugged. "That can be arranged. It would be such a pity though; I'm sure the Darkest Knight would not mind having you. He so fancies dark-haired dancing girls and perhaps with a little training you could find a place amongst his favourites…" Seeing Jaina flinch, Tamith Kai's smile grew.

Jacen, seeking to protect his sister from even more guilt and heartache—Sith, he hated Zekk for what he had done—stepped forward. "You're going to pay for all the Jedi you've killed, Tamith Kai."

Two more Nightsisters joined Tamith Kai; the twins recognized one of them as Kumin Lai, Tamith Kai's right hand and assassin. "We shall see, _Jedi_," the leader sneered. "Tell me, how does it feel to know that your religion is dead and that you will soon join it?"

"Are you trying to babble us to death, Tamith Kai?" Jaina asked dryly, recovering from her emotional struggle. "Because it won't work—I'm too used to Jacen's babbling."

Jacen turned a hurt expression on his twin. "What do you mean, you're too used to me babbling for her babbling to have any affect on you? She babbles _way_ more than I do!"

Jaina rolled her eyes. "This isn't the time for us to discuss how much you babble, Wampa brain."

"Wampa brain? What did I do to deserve this treatment? All I've ever done is—"

"Jacen, shut _up_," Jaina said, her voice as sharp as one of Tenel Ka's throwing blades. "We'll talk about this later."

"Oh, yeah, I know." Jacen flashed her an easy grin. "I was just stalling for time. You want Tamith Kai?"

Just barely, the corners of her mouth flicked upward, softening her expression, despite her response. "Duh." Without waiting for her brother, Jaina lunged forward, blade slashing toward the lead Nightsister's head.

Jacen rolled his eyes and twirled his lightsaber once before following his twin into the fight. When they were side-by-side, Jacen casually said, "So, did you ever think about waiting for me?"

"Nope," Jaina replied just as casually as she dodged a tentative thrust from Tamith Kai's lightsaber. "You're too slow."

"Whatever. You're going to get yourself killed someday, you know that?" Which, he didn't add, he was kind of worried about.

"Hm," was all Jaina managed to say as Tamith Kai's attack became more ruthless and concentrated.

The twins were quiet for several minutes. Only the five lightsabers and the whine of the _Rock Dragon_'s engines warming up broke the silence. Jacen felt sweat begin to trickle down his back and his arms were tiring quickly. /How much longer, do you think?/ he asked to Jaina.

Jaina blocked a blow to her stomach. /Three, maybe four minutes/

/Think we can hold out that long?/

/Just—/ Jaina threw her leg out and tripped Tamith Kai, then plunged her lightsaber into the Nightsister's heart and ran to help Jacen. /Piece of sweet cake with frill syrup/

/Nice work, Jaya/

/Thanks. Hey, where's the third one?/

As if conjured by Jaina's question, Kumin Lai gave an enraged cry and ran out from behind a pillar, right arm and fingers outstretched. Knowing exactly what that meant, Jaina ducked and rolled, coming up to one knee and holding her lightsaber up as protection, should the Nightsister aim the Sith lightning at her.

Jacen, who had been standing beside his twin, was not so lucky. The young man's body soaked up the Dark electricity like a sponge taking in water, causing him to fly against the wall.

Jaina's eyes widened and she froze in shock, but only for a moment. Flying to her feet, she raced over to Kumin Lai, only to be tackled by the other remaining Nightsister. The Jedi went down with an "oomph."

The blue-white lightning's flow intensified, Jacen's agony increasing until he couldn't even scream. Like haphazard light, images danced before his eyes – Tenel Ka's hair, shining in the sun; his mother's eyes; Jaina's hand reaching out from under a ship when she asked for a tool.

"You fool!" he heard the second, anonymous Nightsister shout. "You're not supposed to kill him!"

"Let him die," the Kumin Lai snarled, her thoughts on Tamith Kai. "Let his sister feel our pain. Brakiss only needs the girl."

"He wants them _both_ alive!"

There was a sudden, powerful burst of pain and then only a tingling feeling. To Jacen's horror, he realized the electricity had just killed his nerves. /Jaina!/ he shouted through the twin bond.

Jaina slammed the second Nightsister into the wall and raced to her twin's aid. Her kick landed across the third Nightsister's face. The Dark one howled in pain as Jaina continued to take her vengeance out on the woman who tried to kill Jacen.

Jacen looked up and cried a warning, but Jaina turned too late. The stun bolt hit her square in the chest and she fell with a thump. When Jacen attempted to drag his tingling, shaking body toward his other half, a blue stun bolt arced toward him and then everything faded to black.

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Please R&R!

-Tjz


	4. Ch2: Your Love Isn't Stupid

Eowyn Skywalker: thank you! It'll quickly get more melodramatic than ANH, though, I'm afraid :P This is an early work, started about two years ago, and I'm rewriting it now, but it might be a little bumpy, lol.  
  
Jaina-Elessar: Thanks. Yes, Dejarik is up on Dhalbreth, but the rest of 'Always' isn't, and Dejarik has been rewritten a little, as well. Tamith Kai is aware of the Jaina/Zekk dynamic.

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Chapter Two: "Your Love Isn't Stupid"**

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Jaina woke slowly, her body sluggish and unresponsive. When she opened her eyes, a surge of adrenaline and realization shot through her body. Nightsisters! They had… Were Tenel Ka and the kids safe? Was Jacen…?

The darkness surrounding her was impenetrable. Stretching out with the Force, she tried to discover the identity of her companion in the gloom. _Jacen_. Jaina let out a sigh of relief. She'd know his Force signature anywhere, even as battered as it was. Her arms ached as she reached out to the side, feeling around for him.

A soft moan directed her hand and she rolled over, checking her twin through the Force for injuries. She fought off the sudden wave of pain he was feeling as consciousness came rushing back. She bit her lip and moved closer to him, taking one of his shaking hands in hers. "Jasa?"

His head thrashed about before he seemed to realize that her hand was in his. "Jaya. Y-you okay?"

She bit her lip and felt around her belt to see if she still had a light on her. The only thing she found was her chrono, but it cast a dim, blue glow. "I'm alright. Nothing to write home about." Jaina raised the watch so that she could scan her brother. The sight caused her to wince. His head was sticky with blood, and any old wounds had reopened when the electricity raced through him. His veins were too obvious.

Jaina screwed her eyes shut. She was losing another brother. Taking a shuddering breath, she reopened her eyes. _Keep it together, Solo. Distract him._ "What do you think they'll do to us, Jasa?" she asked softly. Maybe it wasn't an Ewok-and-candy type subject, but she couldn't think of anything else. Besides, in their situation, anything else would sound absurd.

Jacen's whole body twitched as an after-effect of the Dark electricity and he shook his head. "I – I don't know, J-Jaya." The nerves in his system were still not responded to his brain's commands, making him stutter. He felt as if he'd been thrown into an ion storm without a ship.

The two were quiet for a few moments before Jaina whispered, "She said Brakiss wants us alive. What do you suppose she meant by that?"

She thought she saw him shrug, but it was hard to tell as he trembled.

Jaina's bottom lip trembled as she felt her brother's life force weaken and she snuggled deeper into Jacen's side, all ideas for conversation flying out of her head. Grateful for her proximity, he held her close, forcing his arms to fold about her.

"J-Jaya?"

"Mm-hm?"

"Promise m-me something?"

Jaina drew back enough to see her brother's face, his features barely visible even up close. "What?"

"Live for me?"

Jaina sat up straight in denial, her calm flying in every direction. "No! I _won't_! You're going to live. You _have_ to. If you don't, it—" she felt the tears begin to stream down her face and she took a shuddering breath. It wouldn't happen again. It couldn't. "What's the number one rule of being a Jedi, Jacen? _Never die._ If you—die," her voice quavered but she pushed on, "it'll _totally_ screw up the escape plan."

Jacen offered a small, weary grin. If he meant to reassure her, he failed. "Guess you'll have to use that – that brilliant mind of…yours to f-find another way out."

She wiped her tears away viciously as she scoffed. "Of course. I'll just slip past Brakiss and his thousands of henchmen, all without backup—"

"But you _will_ have ba-back up," Jacen argued, shocking Jaina into silence. "You'll have – Zekk."

Jaina's eyes shuttered. "Zekk's gone, Jacen. End of discussion."

He ignored her pessimism as his mind began to recover from its shock. "You used to believe you could t-turn him back. What if – you were right? What if it's your...I don't know..._destiny_ to save him?"

Her lip curled in distaste, but memories clawed for her attention.

_As he held his red, glaring lightsaber out, she saw blood on his hands. "I'll never turn, Jaina. You can't make me. Join me."_

Jaina stifled the images as best she could. "What if it's my destiny to die and rot here for my stupidity?" she retorted bitterly.

Jacen looked surprised, almost hurt. For a man who had more than a buzz going on in his brain, his next words were remarkably clear. "Your love isn't stupid, Jaina," Jacen said, pleading for her faith. "Love never is. You should have admitted to him that you love him, but you're getting your second chance."

Jaina snorted. "Oh, and you're the one to talk? At least I have the whole enemy excuse. Everyone knows you and Tenel Ka are way past the friendship stage, but neither of you will get over your own stubbornness and just admit it. Don't preach to _me_ about declaring my love. You have more than your share of the idiot gene when it comes to love."

Jacen was quiet for several minutes. "Jaya?"

"Yeah?"

"Could you tell her?"

"Could I tell her that you're an idiot? Sure – I mean, I don't know why she wouldn't already know, but—"

Jacen sighed in exasperation and looked up at the ceiling, palms up, beseeching. "What did I do to deserve this?" he moaned.

Jaina smirked. "That's a good question. You've always been such a juvenile delinquent—"

"Oh, please. At least _I _never put paint in Mom's make-up." The playful banter, which had been such a big part of their relationship, was a comfort for both, even as they were well aware of the fact that death was drawing close, eager to bring home one of the Force's darlings.

Once again, Jaina leaned against her brother, mindful of his injuries. "I'll tell her you love her, Jasa; I promise."

The next time Jacen spoke, his voice was tinged with irony. "You know, I should have known this would happen."

"That what would happen?"

He gestured around the room with a shaky hand. "This. The Force kept prompting me to tell Tenel Ka that I love her. But I kept putting it off… Stupid, I know, especially with everything that's going on. Guess it's a good thing I carry this around, huh?"

Jaina looked to see what Jacen held in his slightly trembling left hand; it was a small holodisc. He looked at her, a plea in his eyes. "I'll give it to her," she said, hoping it wouldn't be the first time she had to break a promise of this importance to him.

She took the disc and sighed, before looking up with a smirk. "We never could do anything separately – not even the whole falling-in-love thing."

Jacen raised an eyebrow, a teasing glint in his eyes. "Jaina! You never told me you love Tenel—"

Jaina rolled her eyes. "Of course I don't lamu head," she replied, pausing to tug Jacen's dark, shaggy curls. "But I'm in love with a Sith Lord, and that's just about as bad."

Jacen's laughter rang out in the small prison cell. "Almost, but not quite," he agreed.

----

The Darkest Knight watched through narrowed eyes as Commander Depuit came into his quarters and saluted sharply. "Commander," Onyx said softly, voice filled with waiting menace.

The man swallowed visibly. "My Lord, the Emperor commands your presence."

Lord Onyx nodded once, stiffly. "Very well; return to your post, _commander_."

The blond man saluted once more and hurried away as quickly as possible. Depuit was not Force-sensitive, but even he could feel the Darkness of the Sith that radiated from Lord Onyx.

It was the Darkness that killed failures, sometimes even mere annoyances, and Depuit knew that Lord Onyx could be even more ruthless than his master. He avoided the Sith apprentice like a plague.

_Why, again, did I choose this job over being a merchant?_ the commander wondered with resignation.

****

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Please R&R!

**-Tjz**


	5. Ch3: Jacen

Normally I would do replies to your reviews, but I'm leaving for a trip soon, and I don't have the time.... Thank you Jaina-Elessar/Ameri and Eowyn Skywalker for replying! It always makes my day :D  
  
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_Note: The section with Tenel Ka was written by Jade-Max, who, at the time, was helping me with this fic. Gratitude and praise to her._

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**Chapter Three: Jacen Solo**

.

"Jaya?"

"Yeah?"

"They're coming."

"No bantha cheese."

"I'm serious!"

"So'm I."

"I guess they'll tell us what happens to us next…"

"_Really_? Are you sure they're not coming for a game of Sabacc? Honestly, Jasa, you're getting to be as bad as Threepio."

"I am _not_ as bad as Threepio!"

"Could you say anything _more_ Threepio-ish?"

"Hey!" The appearance of bright light coming from a doorway cut off any other retort Jacen might have made. As if to heighten the Solo twins' dread, two of the Emperor's Guards, their blood red robes a sharp contrast to the dark room, entered.

Without a word, the Guards moved into the room, each taking a Solo twin by the arm and pulling them out effortlessly.

They walked halfway across the Imperial Palace before they were thrown into different sides of a large room. When the Guards had left, the door slammed shut. Jaina cast a curious glance around before looking at Jacen. "They need to fire their interior decorator. _Everyone_ knows _pastels_ are in. White is _so_ three months ago," she finished in a mock snobby voice.

Jacen smiled faintly and walked toward her—and right into an energy wall. "Ouch," he muttered, rubbing his already sore shoulders.

Jaina looked around again, this time in admiration. "Idiot shields, however," she paused to wink at Jacen, "are _very_ in."

Jacen groaned and shook his head in mock despair as he took a seat against the wall. _Only Jaina could joke about "idiot shields" in an interrogation chamber_, he thought wryly. _Only Jaina_.  
  
----

Lord Onyx forced himself to study the male Solo twin before the female counterpart. The younger man caused Onyx to sneer in disgust – with his former friend, and with himself for the pretence.

Jacen Solo was messier and more idiotic than he had been five years ago. Or, Onyx consented generously, perhaps not more so, but rather more obviously so to the Darkest Knight after five years of living among the higher class.

Hungrily, Lord Onyx's gaze left Jacen and found its way to Jaina. The last time he had seen her was eighteen months previously, at Mon Calamari, when they had duelled. She had believed she was fighting to defend the Jedi students, when his real mission had been to capture her. He had left thinking it impossible for any woman to be more beautiful than she had been that day.

He had also left thinking she was dead.

But it had been a lie—_another_ lie, he thought, seething—from his Master. Lord Onyx's hand clenched in a fist for a moment before he released it and concentrated once more on the young woman who was still unaware of his presence. Her hair was in a loose braid that was swiftly coming undone, first from her duel with the Nightsisters, and then from her captivity. Her clothes were that of any Jedi Knight—tan pants and tunic, and dark brown robe. Her multi-tool belt—all items well used and permanently grease-stained—hung at an angle, starting at her natural waistline and going to the bottom of her hip where her lightsaber would normally be.

She was far more beautiful than he remembered, he thought, his eyes darkening with desire. And at last she was his.

"I will keep the girl, of course," the Lord Emperor said at his apprentice's side. When he felt Lord Onyx tense beside him, Brakiss chuckled and let his gaze fall on Jaina. "Such a lovely creature, is she not, Lord Onyx? So much like her mother."

Lord Onyx raged inside, knowing without a doubt that the Emperor had planned this. Knowing, also, that his master would be willing to hand Jaina over to Onyx—but only for a price. "Yes," Lord Onyx murmured as his mind raced to figure out what the Emperor might want in return for Jaina. "Lovely. I do believe, however, that you promised me a Jedi captive. Why not give me her?"

"Hm, perhaps." The Emperor pretended to think about it for a moment. "No, Lord Onyx. She is too powerful. She could—and would—escape you too easily."

Onyx was not soothed by the fact that Brakiss' degrading comments meant the Emperor was more aware of his apprentice's power. Through gritted teeth, Onyx snarled, "She would not escape."

"Perhaps…" Brakiss considered, "if she had a Force suppressor… But then she would still be dangerous."

"I'm sure you and your technicians could think of a way to fix that." Onyx turned a cold, fake smile on Brakiss. "Why not use her twin against her?"

"Oh, because," the Emperor said, a malicious smile spreading across his face. "I'm going to re-stimulate his nerves."   
  
----

Jaina jolted out of her bantering mood as Jacen's body began to shake from pain, and he screamed into her mind. Jumping to her feet, she raced to the wall of energy that separated them, able only to feel his agony and her own while their bond began to fray as death grew closer and closer.

Helpless, panicked, she attacked the wall, unmindful of the electric shocks that ran through her arms and shoulders everytime they contacted the energy. "Jacen!" His name was torn from her throat as tears streamed down her cheeks. "No, _JACEN_!"

As his body writhed from the exploding nerve endings, the she punched the barrier, Jacen's pain echoing in his twin. Despairingly, she realized that his nerves weren't just active; they were being stimulated to the point of death. Her breathing came in short gasps as she slammed her hands, open palmed, against the barrier that separated them again, even knowing it was useless. "_No…_"

/I love you, Jaya,/ Jacen managed to say through the bond as his body went into severe shock.

Tears blurred her vision as blackness began to encroach on the edges. /Jasa…love you too!/ Jaina screamed as she felt the "Jacen-ness" of her brother—his very mind—disappear into the pain, his heart still pumping. There was a loud _crack_ of bones snapping, and Jaina dropped to the floor, shocked into pained silence as Jacen—and half of her heart, soul and very being—became one with the Force. She could never be sure if he heard the last message she'd sent to his mind.

----

Halfway across the galaxy, Leia Organa Solo gasped as a phantom pain flew over her from the Force. Before she could comprehend from whence it came, there were two explosions in the Force: the death of a Jedi—_no_, her very heart and soul screamed, _not just any Jedi, but Jacen!_—and the other of anguish unlike anything she had ever felt, from Jaina.

Her baby, barely more than a thought within her, terrified and in pain, screamed, and Leia's heart with it.

In a desperate act, she severed her bond with Jaina, and strengthened her mental shields. Her husband, Han Solo, turned to her, reading the awful truth in her eyes, and opened his arms. And, in the comfort of her also-grieving husband's embrace, and in the comfort of the knowledge that her baby was safe, the princess cried.

----

The _Rock Dragon_ sped through hyperspace with its precious cargo, Lowie at the helm. Tenel Ka had just unbuckled her crash webbing to go check on the students when a blast of white-hot pain lanced through her soul. _Jacen!_ She went crashing into the wall, stumbling from the sudden, blinding pain. His Force presence blazed brilliantly inside her for a brief, shining moment, before disappearing completely. It felt much like a last caress.

Tenel Ka slid down the wall, shaking with silent sobs she couldn't release. Lowbacca's inquiring whine penetrated her anguish. _Jacen is gone._ She bowed her head and wiped her eyes, noticing for the first time that her cheeks were streaked with tears. Forcing herself to her feet, she shielded her emotions and buried them. She could feel the confusion of the Jedi children; Jacen's passing had disturbed the Force.

Setting her jaw resolutely, Tenel Ka rose to her feet. She could grieve later; for now, she had a responsibility to uphold, and a promise to keep. She would get the children safely to Hapes. Offering a silent assurance to Lowie, she resumed walking towards the cargo bay, feeling empty and suddenly so very, very alone.

----

_Poor Jacen :( Poor everyone… hands out tissues The next chapter will be much longer, because I suddenly realized how many chapters this fic could be divided into :p I'll put it up on Tuesday, God willing, before I leave for Mexico.  
_

_Please R&R!_

-Tjz


	6. Ch4: Alone

Again, it was a new chapter or replies - hopefully you agree with my choice on this one :p ;) I won't be posting again until at least the 16th of August, but it probably won't be that soon. Until then, enjoy the post, and thank you for reading!  
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* * *

**  
Chapter Four: Alone**

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Lord Onyx felt a flicker of regret when the Emperor used the Force to push at Jacen's nerve centre, activating the pain all over again. After all, it couldn't be that Jacen was a fool on _purpose_. And…once…long ago…Zekk and Jacen had been friends.

Which had to be why Zekk was being so irritatingly _loud_ with his grief, Onyx thought with a scowl.

But then Jaina screamed.

A sharp stab and prolonged cry of anguish bled through a Force bond Onyx hadn't known he possessed, searing to his soul. Quickly and—though he would deny it—unable to bear the agony in Jaina's scream, Lord Onyx called upon the Force and mercifully snapped Jacen's neck. Jaina's shrieks stopped abruptly, but, somehow, the silence was worse – and louder – than her verbal cries.

The Emperor turned to his apprentice, livid. "How _dare_ you interfere!" he stormed.

"You've made your point, Lord Emperor," Lord Onyx replied coldly as he turned back to the viewport, watching as Jaina stared at her brother's empty robes in silent shock. "She could be a powerful ally. Torturing her twin past the point where his mind is no longer there is not the way to earn her allegiance."

The Emperor continued to glare at Lord Onyx. "Try my patience any longer, my apprentice, and you will earn my wrath."

"Jaina has never been an individual," Lord Onyx stated flatly, continuing to watch the Solo daughter as he quickly polished off an idea. "She is a Jedi – one of a cult, if you will, that encourages anonymity – and a _Skywalker-Solo_…making her a celebrity for her family's sake, and not her own. She was also a twin – half of one being.

"Now she finds her cult rapidly withering, her family dead, far away or on bad terms with her. _And_ her twin is now dead, leaving her with half a heart and soul. At this point she will grab any willing individual from her happier past as an anchor."

Understanding flooded the Emperor's face, and the Sith Master released an evil cackle. "And you were her childhood playmate," he finished. "The very one who saved her brother from more pain." The Emperor waved a hand imperiously. "Very well then, Lord Onyx. Turn her, no matter what it takes. From now on, Jaina Solo's life is in your hands."   
  
----

Jaina didn't bother to protest when two Imperial Guards roughly dragged her to large, tastefully decorated (if not overly black and white) quarters. It didn't matter. If they planned on killing her, she didn't care – she would be one with the Force, and with a long list of friends, not to mention her brothers. Missing the rest of the Sith-spawned war that she had practically started by not realizing Zekk's Force potential also happened to be a plus.

If they tried to torture her…well, she'd like to see them top Jacen's death.

However, Jaina's protective wall of not-caring nearly broke when she recognized the Force-essence that covered the quarters. The rooms the Guards had thrown her in belonged to Ze—_no_, she reminded herself for the billionth time in five years, _not Zekk_—Lord Onyx. Everything in the suite belonged to _Onyx_.

Never Zekk. Zekk, who was gone.

"You're here." The quiet statement startled her, even in her mild stupor, and she spun to see Lord Onyx in all his Sithly glory.

Jaina's eyes—not quite under her control in the aftermath of Jacen's death—took him in, too many emotions to count in her eyes. He had grown a foot since the holo he sent her five years ago, when he had first begun his training at the Shadow Academy. She would never get used to that new height, even after all their fights. His dark hair, as long as before but certainly not as unruly or messy, was now tied back neatly at the nape of his neck. His emerald eyes, piercing and as beautiful as she remembered, looked back at her, his gaze, oddly enough, filled with desire, as if she were water on Tatooine.

But Onyx's eyes were so cold, so unfeeling – and always, _always_, so different from Zekk's.

She would have killed to see Zekk's eyes again. And she had – killed, that is. Many times. But the reward hadn't come. _And it never will_, a voice taunted her. It sounded like her mother on a bad day, when she was mad enough to let loose.

"Obviously," Jaina snapped in return to Onyx's statement, forcing her eyes to stop their admiration of his physique. _Not going there, Solo_, she told herself firmly._ He's a Sith. Sith equals bad. Bad, bad, bad._ Despite the truth, her heart _(why couldn't the stupid organ just give up already?)_ stubbornly clung to any excuse she could find for him.

Angry with herself, she pressed logic and pain into the mental conversation. _Remember Teneniel D'jo? Tenel Ka's mom? Lord Onyx_ killed _her, just like he killed Corran and hundreds of others. I may have an unhealthy attraction to…scoundrels, but he's way past that stage._

Lord Onyx's right eyebrow leapt up in almost-amusement. "Still have fire in your soul, Jedi Solo?" he asked, breaking into her mental lecture.

_Jedi Solo?_ she wondered, a little hurt that she was no more than a title. _Well, if he wants to play it that way, fine._

"Merely stating a fact," she said calmly. /Anyone with eyes could see that I'm here, Onyx. You weren't quoting philosophy!/ she sent coldly through the bond she had mysteriously found between them. It was, she decided, a bond she didn't particularly want.

"The Emperor – " Jaina sniggered, and Lord Onyx gave her a silencing glare before he continued, "has found you guilty of treason." He paused, as if expecting her to ask about her trial. Jaina, however, knew that there would be no such thing as Brakiss couldn't afford anyone to figure out he wasn't Palpatine, and so she said nothing. "You, Jedi Knight Jaina Solo," Onyx continued, "are henceforth stripped of all rights—human, alien, or otherwise—and have been signed over to me."

Jaina's mind, still sore from Jacen's death, took several seconds to take it all in. When it did, her temper flared to dangerous levels. "I'd rather die than be the pleasure-slave of a monster like _you_," she spat, remembering Tamith Kai's threat.

Lord Onyx ignored the brief ache he felt at her obvious, low opinion of him. Instead, he took several steps forward until there was very little room between them. He smiled slightly when he saw her jaw angle defiantly, and her body tight with energy, ready to fight. Reaching out, he ran three fingers down the side of her face to the base of her neck. Impossibly, her body tensed even more, as if she thought he would choke her. He ignored another second of pain at the idea.

"Would you rather be the…property of the emperor?" he asked menacingly, almost daring her to speak the affirmative. He was pleased to feel her pain, and even a small amount of fear, at the suggestion. So, she knew how Brakiss treated his slaves, did she? "I am your only friend in the Imperial Palace, Jaina Solo," Onyx said softly, but no less coldly. "You would be wise not to anger me."

Jaina's eyes darkened with something he didn't recognize, and she sighed and looked down, breaking eye contact. "If this is how you treat your friends, Onyx, I'd hate to see how you treat your enemies."

----

The next several hours were tense as Jaina silently recounted evil deed Lord Onyx had ever committed in an effort to keep from saying, thinking or doing something she would regret. She stood, leaning against one wall, her arms crossed defensively in front of her, trying to ignore his presence. She needed to keep her focus.

Lord Onyx lounged across from her in a large chair, a drink in one hand, one leg propped over one of the arms. He allowed his gaze to rake freely over her, lingering on the curve of her neck, the swell of her hips and beyond. She could feel every pass of those green eyes as if he touched her and fought against the urge to find something to cover herself with. Those eyes saw too much and made her feel exposed, vulnerable. Finally, unable to bear his scrutiny, she snapped. "Why do you stare?"

Lord Onyx paused for a moment before replying, then gave her a charming, seductive smile. "Simply admiring the view."

Jaina felt a spark of anger in the mess her emotions were rapidly becoming and grabbed it for all she was worth. "Then would you be so kind," she said through gritted teeth, tilting her jaw imperiously, "as to stop looking at me as if I were a cocoa-caram cake with cream."

"I think you left that stage when you were fifteen," Lord Onyx stated, enjoying the blush that stained her cheeks.

Jaina had never been so embarrassed and disgusted in her life. _Zekk would have died before he said something like that!_ she thought with a flash of pain. The realization forwarded her desire to knock some sense into her own head. _How can you love him?_ a bratty little voice that sounded like her mother asked. _He's not the boy you grew up with, which is an improvement and a handicap!_ "Pervert," she spat.

Lord Onyx dropped his feet to the floor and walked toward her, becoming aware, for the first time, that she was truly uncomfortable with—and perhaps a bit afraid of—his frank admiration of her beauty. An apology began to make its way through his lips before he realized it. When he did, he pursed his lips. _I'm a Sith!_ he thought angrily. _There's no reason for me to apologize to her!_ Swallowing the unspoken apology, he slapped her instead. "I hope, for your sake, that you never feel the need to be so blatantly insulting to me again."

She glared up at him, cheek and ego stinging from the almost unexpected slap. "I'll say what I wish," she fired back.

"Not if you expect to last much longer, you won't." He stared down at her for a moment, letting the threat sink in, then spun on his heel and left, locking the door behind him.   
  
----

Jaina's eyes closed at the sound of the door slamming shut and did not open until long after Lord Onyx was on the other side of the Imperial palace. Vaguely, she recognized the spikes of adrenaline and concentration that she was getting off him as the state a Jedi sunk into when they were sparring. Unlike a Jedi, however, she sensed the almost overpowering darkness of a Sith.

_Not like Jacen_, she thought, inevitably, her eyelids pricking with unshed tears at the memory of her brother. When Jacen had sparred, it was with a pure Light and determination. He had always been a much better Jedi than her. Many had taken him for an all-around goofball, who didn't know the meaning of being serious.

Jaina, however, had known differently.

At the very core, Jacen had been vulnerable, thoughtful, and one of the most compassionate beings Jaina had ever known. Whenever Jaina had been upset, Jacen was there to comfort her and tell some stupid joke to help distract her. When she was scared of the dark as a child, he had stolen a glow rod from the closet for her. When she remained afraid, he stayed nearby all night—every night—until she was able to walk through the dark, alone and unafraid. When the twins were kidnapped—a common occurrence throughout their lives—he had always been there, boosting her confidence by simply _knowing_ she would make a successful escape plan.

And now he was gone.

_Gone._

The events of the day catching up with her, she sank to the floor, silent sobs wracking her body until she was shaking like a leaf caught in a Hoth snowstorm.

"I don't blame you for crying. Look at this room! If it was a med-bay, it couldn't be more sterile." The voice, completely unexpected, startled Jaina out of her tears, and her head jerked up.

When all she saw was a blur, she rubbed her eyes viciously. Looking up again, she sighed, and gave a watery smile to the transparent form in front of her. Once, his hair had been black, and his eyes green. Now, however, he was only blue. "Hey, Kyp," she said softly.

Kyp Durron, Jedi Master, gave the last of the Solo kids a smile. "Hey, Jay."

They were quiet for a moment, then, "What—what are you doing here?" she sputtered, recovering from her shock, and brushing away the tears she had missed.

He gave her a mock hurt look. "Can't a guy pull a ghostie to comfort his honorary little sister?"

Her eyes narrowed, and she sniffled. "No."

His blue hands went to his heart, as if her words had struck a chord in his very soul. "You're killing me," the dead Jedi Master cracked.

She snorted, and, despite herself, felt a smirk climb up her face. Call it desperation to avoid the tears that were preparing to drown her. "Alright, so you came to 'comfort' me. How about if we say you've done that, so you can let me go back to my _private_ grief now?

His teasing air vanished abruptly, and he became solemn. "No.

She blinked once, then, incredulous, repeated, " '_No_'?"

He sat down on the floor across from her, legs crossed. "You're treading dangerous ground, Jaina. Bury your grief deep, or the Emperor and Lord Onyx will exploit it."

"You want me to go the rest of my life without acknowledging my grief?" she demanded sarcastically.

He shook his head. "There is a time to fight, and a time to grieve. In a perfect world, the latter would be now, but you must fight for some time before you can grieve."

"So, basically, you want me to be a droid," she stated flatly.

"The Sith will try to turn you," he said seriously. "You're at your most vulnerable right now."

"I'm a Jedi," she muttered. "I won't turn."

"Don't let arrogance sneak up on you, Jaina," Kyp warned, clearly remembering how she had reacted to Anakin's death. "The Dark side is easier, and far more seductive, than the Light."

She gave him half of a wobbly grin. "You don't need to tell me all this, Kyp. I've been there; I know as well as anyone that the Light is more fulfilling."

His face was grave. "Remember your words, Jaina. They can save you."

Rolling her eyes, she nodded, and wrapped her arms around her torso, as if trying to protect herself from an inner chill. "Anything else?"

He hesitated. "You're not going to want to hear this—"

She found the strength to tease him. "When do I _ever_ want to hear _anything_ you have to say?"

Kyp's ironic grin echoed her own. "True."

She cocked an eyebrow. "I'm waiting…"

"Even deeper than your grief, you must bury one thing—your love for Zekk."

Her eyes shuttered. "Why should I? Zekk's gone."

"If you've accepted the fact that Zekk is gone, and he is now Lord Onyx, never to change—and I know you haven't, or you would have willed yourself to die, rather than be the slave to a Sith—then let your love die for him as well."

"Let me guess," she said sarcastically. "Onyx would exploit that, too."

"Yes…but not in the way you think. You've seen the way Onyx looks at you. You're not so innocent to think that he might not act on it someday. But it's the Emperor from whom you need to hide your emotions. He will use them against not only you, but Onyx."

"But if Onyx is—"

"So Dark, why should he care?" he finished for her. Debating whether or not to say it, Kyp was quiet for a moment. Then, "If he has a weakness, Jay, it's you."

Jaina's spine straightened, and her eyes widened in shock. "Then he can be redeemed?" she asked excitedly. "A Sith can't care about someone and not have traces of Light—"

Kyp raised a hand in an effort to still her. "Jaina – Jaina, stop." She quieted, but the excited gleam did not leave her eyes. For years she had held onto this, for _years_ she had hoped, and, now, to have it confirmed…!

He saw the joy in her eyes. "Yes, you've had reason to cling to hope but—even though he's vulnerable, right now, you are even more so. Let yourself heal before you chase after Darkness."

Biting her bottom lip, she gave the Jedi Master a pleading look.

"Jaina, I'm _serious_. Interact with the Sith as little as possible – while you're healing, especially."

She flipped her hair over her shoulder, and gave him a sour look. "Fine. Whatever. But when you wonder why I don't like to hear from you, remember this conversation."

"Sure, but only if you understand when I tell you that I hate talking to _you_."

Although she thought her face would crack in two from the action, Jaina smirked. "That's what all my old baby-sitters say."

Kyp loosed a snicker. "What – do you actually expect people who had to put up with your Force-tantrums to be happy around you?"

"I never had a Force tantrum with you around. You always cut Jacen and me off from the Force when you baby-sat—"

"With my superior Force powers," he inserted cockily.

"With ysalamiri," she corrected. "So Jacen and I tied a ysalamiri to your back and then locked you in the 'fresher."

"But then Jacen opened the door and let me out because he had to 'go'," he finished.

She groaned. "He always did find a way to spoil my brilliant pranks. Whether it was because he had a weak bladder or—" She stopped mid-sentence as she felt a Dark presence that she recognized with eerie ease. "He's coming back."

Kyp gave her a sympathetic look. "Be strong, Jaina, and remember what I told you."

"Kyp," she pleaded, for what she didn't know, but he seemed to.

"I'll be around," he promised, "but things will get worse before they get better. May the Force be with you."

"But Kyp—" Before she could complete her sentence, the door whizzed open, and Kyp disappeared, leaving her alone with Lord Onyx.

----

Officially, Lord Onyx was his lightsaber hilt, but out of the corner of his eye he watched as Jaina meditated. Although more guarded, her thoughts and emotions were just as chaotic as when she had started.

When he had returned from his sparring, the brunette had barely looked at him before entering a heavy meditation. Her cheeks had been flushed; her eyes pink and puffy from crying, causing him to frown but otherwise ignore it. Through their bond, he could feel her swirling emotions—anger, grief, determination, and an underlying emotion that floated just out of the corner of his eye, taunting him for his inability to recognize it.

When he reached out in a mental attempt to better understand the sentiment, Jaina's shields, as fiery as her temper, knocked him out of her mind. The action told him better than any words that she would guard this emotion fiercely, as it was private and important to her. _I will have to tell the Lord Emperor of this_, he thought before his pride rose up in protest. _Jaina is_ mine, he argued silently but savagely. _She is mine to turn, and mine to do with as I wish_.

_Then why haven't you done anything about it_? a particularly obnoxious part of his mind asked. _She is your slave—why not do with her as you wish? Why not do what you have desired to do for the past four years?_

Lord Onyx pushed the thought away, unsettled. The voice's inquiries were not to be thrown aside so easily, though. Why _didn't_ he take her? Force knew, once he gave her the Force-suppressing drug, he would be able to overpower her easily. Yet, for some reason, the very thought of taking her against her will did not sit well with him at all.

_Probably_, he acknowledged angrily, _it's Zekk making his blasted presence – and softness – known._

Onyx growled deep in his throat and moved so that his eyes were focused solely on the reason of his uncertainty, his lightsaber forgotten. It did not take long for him to lose himself in her beauty. Nor, he noticed, did it take Jaina long to notice his stare, even in her meditative state from which she shook off with practiced ease.

"Did we not talk about how you stare at me, Onyx?" Jaina asked, the fragile peace she had gathered in meditation now leaving her like carbon dioxide in an outward breath.

He cocked a dark brow. "Did we not also talk of how, at fifteen, you passed the stage where I could even _possibly_ ignore your beauty?"

Jaina's cheeks grew hotter and hotter each second his gaze continued to stay on her body. "I am not food, water, heat or air, Onyx, and I would appreciate it if you acted as such," she gritted out.

He admired her for several more minutes, until she was certain she couldn't take it anymore. Then, his eyes met with hers. That connection was even more unnerving, but somewhat safer—at this point, anyway, when all he could read in her eyes was her discomfort.

When his green eyes left hers—and her body—indefinitely, Jaina gave a silent sigh of relief. She knew his lustful scrutiny would be back, but for now she had been given a reprieve, for which she was very grateful, even as her eyes began to droop, and everything caught up with her.

Without looking at her, Onyx gestured to a door to the left of his bedchamber. "You will sleep in there. Some clothing, sleepware and other such items are in the closet."

Swallowing at the thought of being so close to Lord Onyx's bedchamber during the night as she slept, vulnerable, she nevertheless mumbled a "thank you" and walked to it quickly.

"There is a lock on either side," he added, just as she began to step into the room. "You may use the inside lock, but keep in mind that, while many won't be able to get in when you do so, _I_ will."

Taking in the threat – or was it a warning? – Jaina walked through the door, letting it whiz shut behind her.

The room, while small compared to the rest of Onyx's quarters, was spacious and tidy, but almost oppressive in the black and blood red decorating. There was a small window to the left, but Onyx's quarters were on the seventh floor of the Palace, so it would be no use in escaping, even if she _could_ fit through it. The blanket on her cot—a very _thin_ blanket, she noted—was red, and the almost transparent sheets were black.

Pulling her by now ratted, messy hair out of its braid, she went to the closet and opened it. Every item was black, with the exception of an occasional red item. As if the place wasn't oppressive enough already. No wonder every Force-sensitive in the Imperial Palace became – and stayed – Sith. There was no colour to cheer them up. It certainly didn't help _her_ mood that she was in a room that could almost be a funeral location.

"They need to fire their interior decorator," she muttered. Then, after a pause, she added, "And their fashion consultant."

Sighing, she plunged a hand into the closet and selected an item at random before changing into it. She barely spared it a glance before settling onto the bed, her posture as relaxed as possible under the circumstances. Lord Onyx's stare had brought her out of her meditation sooner than she'd planned, not that it had been very successful.

Taking a deep breath, she sunk into the Force and spread her awareness outward. First, she concentrated on Onyx – who seemed far more anxious and confused than a Sith lord should, she noticed with a spark of desperate hope – and then moved on to one of the Emperor's Guards, on the other side of the Palace. She reached out even more and sensed the minds and lives of the billions of beings on Coruscant.

Further, she reached, looking for the trail a bond left behind. _Come on, Mother, just_ **once **_be there when I need you!_ she half pleaded, half growled in frustration as her search proved fruitless. Deciding upon another, easier – but far more painful – way to find her mother, Jaina withdrew into herself, into her very being.

At first, only shallow bonds showed themselves—bonds with a few Jedi students or childhood playmates she had long since left behind. Then her bond with Lusa—shadowed because of the self-inflicted isolation the centaur girl had hidden herself in since Raynar's death. Still more bonds floated by Jaina, many still screaming in agony from the death of the being on the other end. Others were carefully concealed, for their protection, should a Dark Jedi get past her shields and prey on her mind. Still others were frayed, but none were the bond she shared with her mother and Jaina's mouth twitched in a frown. _Odd_, she thought. _I'm sure Mother's bond should be here_… But it wasn't, and Jaina steeled herself for the inevitable pain she was headed for.

Straightening her spine, Jaina moved past the "middle-man bonds" and to her very core…

…and into a maelstrom, the very definition of chaos swirling around her. Her core was not nearly as pure and full as it had been even a day before – just one of the many consequences Jacen's death had left for Jaina. The twin relationship had gone beyond a bond, until they were literally one. With Jacen dead… She shut down that thought in a hurry, and turned to see her soul-bonds.

The bond she had shared with Anakin, now cut, streaked around the core of her being, searching – as all bonds with the dead did – for its other half, still unable even to scream from the agony.

The bonds she had shared with her uncle Luke and aunt Mara were also there, floating, searching for a support to which they could attach themselves.

Her bond with Kyp – all but one, thin strand cut, more painful even than Mara's death, and nearly as excruciating as Anakin's.

Her bond with her father, strong but one-sided as he wasn't Force-sensitive. She stroked it once, revelling in the comfort he always brought her, the understanding he—unlike her mother—had given her as a child, and then as an adult.

But her mother wasn't there, and when Jaina tried to find her through Han, she found nothing. Her heart squeezed in the pain of finding another loved one gone. Why hadn't she felt Leia's death? No matter their arguments and differences, she should have _felt_ it when her mother vanished from this plane. Why—

And then she was distracted by a faint glimmer out of the corner of her perception. Turning, she saw the frayed remnants of a bond. Frayed, she noted—not cut.

Floating over, she studied the wildly grasping threads. They looked like… _No_, Jaina argued frantically. _Mother wouldn't—couldn't—have done that…_

But, Jaina realized in horror, she had.

Jaina jolted out of her heavy meditation, sweating heavily, her heart and soul aching. Tears spilled onto her cheeks and, even as she pushed them away, new ones replaced them. Crawling under the blankets, she buried her face into the pillow. Even as she forced herself to sleep, her thoughts swirled, only one thought—the very one that hurt more than she could have imagined—irrefutable:

Her mother, Princess Leia Organa Solo, voice of compassion in the one-time New Republic's senate, Jedi and Rebellion hero, had turned her back on her daughter in her most desperate time of need, and cut their bond.

Jaina was truly alone.

----

**Please R&R!**

**-Tjz**


	7. Ch5: Monster, Part 1

First of all, let me say that I'm really, _really_ sorry about the wait between posts – I should have posted right after I got back from vacation (which, in my defence, did last 17 days, so part of the wait couldn't be helped), but I procrastinated, and paid for it. The family internet computer crashed not long after we got back, and still isn't up yet. Although I have a new laptop, Word wasn't yet set up on it, and I needed to transfer all my files onto a CD or USB—both being devices that my old computer didn't use. Fortunately, just yesterday I managed to transfer the harddrive from my old computer onto my laptop. Ergo, post.

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**Jaina-Elessar**: Thanks! As for Leia…yes, I'm afraid I'd read a bit too much of NJO when I was writing this the first time, and I got rather piffy with Leia. I fix her in the sequel, though, and tried to give her a decent reason in here shifty eyes

**Eowyn**** Skywalker**: Thank you! :D I'm glad you liked it :) I nearly got butchered on JC when I killed Jacen :P

**Galadia**: Welcome, new reader! I'm really sorry about the wait—it isn't typical, and I will definitely finish this, because I already have! On JC, I'm just wrapping up the posting of the sequel to this fic, and I've already begun writing the last instalment of the trilogy. So as long as I know people are reading here, I'll keep posting ;) Thanks for reading :D

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**Chapter Five: Monster**

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(Zekk/Onyx POV)

I was trapped in an endless circle. But then, could I really call it a circle? I simply spun, around and around, seeing things I never wanted to see again. By day I was the Darkest Knight, by night, during my dreams—my nightmares—I was Zekk. I could not escape it. Around I went, with Jacen, Peckhum, thousands of unknowns, Jedi, and many others, all of them staring at me, looks of pain on their faces. Their screams—oh Sith, their _screams_ of agony!—echoed in my mind, like the worst musical tune that wouldn't stop repeating itself over and over again.

And then I stopped spinning and the crowd of the beings I had murdered parted. A young woman, dressed in white with her dark hair loose and falling down around her slim shoulders, walked up to me. "Who are you?" she asked, voice soft.

"What do you mean?" I demanded.

Ignoring his demand, she repeated, "Who are you?"

"I am the Darkest Knight," I snapped, irritated. "Sith apprentice—Lord Onyx."

The woman looked faintly amused. "So many titles, my friend. Are you sure? Are you so Dark?"

"I am a Sith. I _am_ Darkness."

The woman tilted her head to the side, and I found that she reminded me of someone, though I could not think of who. "I know of your uncertainty," she said, her voice a whisper on the wind.

"I have no such uncertainty."

She flashed a grin, taunting _I know something you don't know_ with it. "Really."

"_Really_," I snarled, as annoyed by her words as by the tickling sensation at the back of my mind. How did I know her? Who _was_ she?

The woman's face stilled. "Search for your answers; they will save you."

"And where, exactly, should I start?" I demanded, voice twisting rather unpleasantly.

The woman did not answer, instead merely looked at me.

My lightsaber rose into my hand. "Answer me!"

Still she did not answer and in a movement born of rage, I ignited my 'saber and held it to her neck. "Tell me…before I tire of your insolence," I growled.

Again, she did not reply. Without conscious decision, I swung my lightsaber across her neck. Instead of being decapitated, as it should have, she blazed with pure Light until I had to advert my eyes to save myself from blindness.

"Who are you?" she whispered as the Light finally lessened.

I looked up, heart beating unnaturally fast. "I—I don't understand."

She smiled sadly. "Look to your past, my friend; your answers are there."

"But—"

My questions were cut off as the young woman's perfect face twisted in sudden agony and her mouth opened in a silent scream. Her eyes flew to mine. "Remember who you are," she whispered before she fell to the ground, dead.

"No!" And she was in my arms, her head tilted back, eyes blank. As I watched, her face shimmered and changed…

…into Jaina's features. The pain of that realization tore something essential, something vital, in my heart, and I opened my mouth to scream, but could find no sound.

I had killed Jaina.

The dead that had parted for her now descended upon me, murder in their eyes, and I a willing victim.

But my body—too used to survival—thrashed and ducked out of their grasp and then Jacen stood before me and—

A Force tendril that felt remarkably like Jaina caressed my mind, and a gentle hand smoothed my brow. Repulsed by comfort after my actions, I grabbed the person's throat and flew up, pushing the person into the wall and drew my lightsaber…

…only to see Jaina with my hand around her throat. Stunned, I lowered the lightsaber slightly, my breath coming in short bursts in the wake of the nightmare.

I struggled desperately for some way to maintain a firm grip on Darkness and not give in to my undeniable desire to pull her into my arms, weep into her hair, and rejoice in the fact that none of it had been real.

In the face of conflict, Onyx slid into control easily. "Solo," I hissed, slowly releasing her throat. "_What_ were you doing?"

She wheezed for air, and I wished that she was gasping for breath for reasons very different than that I had nearly stopped her breath—and life—completely. When she regained control, she threw her hair defiantly and glared at me, but her lips trembled. "If you _must_ know," she spat, "I felt your distress through the Force. You were having a nightmare, and I was trying to calm you. Force knows why—you nearly killed me!"

Slowly, the aftermath of the dream slipped away, solidifying Onyx's dominance once again, and with the transformation came the knowledge that Solo had been up and by my side before I felt any distress. "You're lying," I said.

Solo snorted. "What—you don't believe you can have nightmares?"

"You didn't 'feel my distress through the Force', Solo. What were you really doing?" When she set her jaw I slapped her, just hard enough to sting. "Do not toy with me, Jedi."

"Someone once told me," she began hoarsely, "that you can see who someone really is in their sleep." She lowered her eyes and rubbed her throat. "I wanted to see who you were."

I took a step back as Zekk and Lord Onyx battled head-on. Zekk's love and admiration for Jaina fighting fiercely against Onyx's Darkness. Finally, Onyx pushed Zekk down and regained control. "And what, pray tell," I said in a low voice, "were you hoping to find?"

"What do _you_ think?" she asked bluntly.

Anger flew through my veins. She had made me what I was today, and now she wanted _Zekk_ back? In that moment I hated her nearly as much as Zekk loved her; I turned away from her. "You are a fool."

I did not have to look back to know that her head was tilted to the side, her brandy eyes a mix of confusion, curiosity and something else. "Perhaps. But you want to turn me to the Dark Side; isn't that just as—if not more so—stupid?"

Filled with desperation to have her by my side, my hatred for her vanished. Who was the amazing creature who stood behind me, daring to argue with me? She was so beautiful; if only she would renounce her Jedi ways… "The Dark Side is more powerful than your Light, Jedi. A fact made obvious by the Empire's success in this war."

She surprised me then, impudently asking, "Are you so sure you're winning? The Empire has lost before."

I spun, meeting her gaze and feeling the electricity leap between us. Was the Force always this cruel, that it would make Onyx lust after this Jedi, and Zekk love her? No matter which part of me was in control—Light, Dark or otherwise—I was always filled with the same desperate longing for her—a Jedi, and the very being who had lowered my self-worth into Onyx.

"And why," I demanded in response to her question, "would it not?"

"The Empire is a dictatorship," she stated, as if it was perfectly obvious. She walked to the long window by my bed, and stood there for a moment. "The New Republic is—was," she corrected herself, "a democracy. Perhaps it was not as organized as the Empire, but it was for the people and not the leaders." She didn't look at me as she threw aside the draperies and leaned gently against the wall beside the window, her fingers resting ever so gently on the glass as she looked out into the rain.

My breath caught at the very sight of her. Did she know what she did to me? Did she know how beautiful she was? The first time I saw her—at her birthday party, upon which I had come crashing through the window—I had known that I would always belong to her. Her mother had stared at me disapprovingly and tried to push me out of the door as Jacen and Anakin had watched, wide-eyed. Jaina, however, had smiled and given me a hand up from the ground, telling me I had arrived just in time for cake. I thought she was a goddess—but, no, I reminded myself, that was _Zekk_. Zekk was the one who thought she was a goddess. She owned Zekk, never Onyx.

And Onyx was in control.

Dimly, as I reined in my wayward other self, I heard Jaina say, "Eventually, the people will rebel. Brakiss—"

"You would be wise," I interrupted, voice flinty, "to watch your words. The i_Emperor_/i commands respect." But, I conceded, only for now.

"Oh, please," she snapped impatiently. "We both know he isn't _really_ the Emperor. He's just _Brakiss_—a Dark Jedi hiding behind the reputation of a Sith that died a quarter of a century ago."

That, I groused, was the problem with Jedi: they knew far too much. All the more reason to wipe them from the face of the galaxy. No one should know that the "Emperor Palpatine has returned from the dead" deal was a ploy. Emperor Brakiss was certainly capable to lead the Empire—did he not have hundreds of advisors to help him with his job?—but the Imperial galaxy did not understand this. They wanted Emperor Palpatine and no one else.

So Brakiss gave them Emperor Palpatine.

"He _is_ the Emperor."

"Then why does he need to claim to be 'Emperor Palpatine' and not 'Emperor Brakiss'?" she demanded, turning to me with fire in her eyes. "He's nothing but a phony."

For a defenceless slave in enemy headquarters, Solo possessed unbelievable stupidity. Did she think herself safe enough to spout treachery? Better she kept quiet, and kept her life. Brakiss' eyes were everywhere.

Speaking of eyes…time to show some "loyalty" to Brakiss. Of its own accord, my right hand came up and around Solo's neck, the early nightmare's terror forgotten in a role. "Should you ever feel the need to spout such treachery again," I hissed, the anger becoming real, "then consider how painful I can make your death."

I squeezed then, until her body was limp, barely an inch from unconsciousness, and still my rage was not quenched. Her mouth opened and closed once or twice before her eyes, heavy-lidded with pain, found mine in desperate pleading that brought me back to the present, and shaking me to the core as. Through the Force, I felt her heart slowing. My hands dropped immediately, my heart racing as Zekk screamed in pain.

Jaina fell to the ground, gasping convulsively for air. I stood, Solo at my feet, and self-loathing rushed over me. Was _this_ was what I had wanted?

**_NO!_** _Not like this; _never_ like this!_ Zekk screamed. The power of his objection, his denial, surged through me, staggering in its power. The battle raged between Zekk and Lord Onyx and it was longer and more furious than ever before. It was some time before Onyx won, and Zekk was beaten away—but not for long, I knew. Zekk had never reacted so violently before, and he was stubborn.

He would have to be crushed, and soon.

"Let that be a lesson to you, Jedi Knight Solo," I warned, my voice hoarse. "You mean nothing to me; I care only for the Empire and my Master. Do not test my loyalty."

Jaina did not reply. I twirled and left the room, my cape snapping with speed.

I could not afford to let Zekk continue to fight with Onyx for control.

The Darkness in me would not let him.

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In the original version of this fic, I had Jaina's POV of the same scene, but now I think it's just a bit much, and not completely necessary, though it does go more into the background. If you want to read it anyway, let me know in your review, and I'll post it :)

Please R&R!

-Tjz


	8. Ch6: Monster, Part 2

So, I decided to put up the companion chapter to Chapter Five—I don't necessarily like the whole repeat, but this chap is sort of necessary, without a prequel. I'll try to get the next chapter out really quick.

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**Jaina-Elessar**: Thanks! And as for the computer…all's well that ends well, right? Well, supposedly, anyway :P

Of course Zekk is fighting back! Next to Jaina, he's this story's hero ;) The two different personalities, I swear, was total accident :P I actually wanted to avoid that when I started writing this, but…well…everyone seemed to like it, so I didn't bother fixing it :p It's not publishable, so I'm allowed to that, methinks, lol.

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**Chapter Six: Monster, Part 2**

(Jaina's POV)

I couldn't sleep. After an eternity of restless movement I sat up, pulling back the thin Imperial-issued blanket. _Imperial_, I thought, my mind hurting. How had my world changed so much? Was it really only five years since I had been part of the New Republic, with two brothers, hope, love, _freedom_? Perhaps I could survive the whole thing if it weren't for the fact that it was my fault.

I didn't sense Zekk's Jedi potential and so he felt that I didn't think him worthy. _Why_ was I so blind? Of course I had thought him worthy, but my stupidity told me that he _knew_ that. After all, he was my best friend and childhood crush; I was so transparent that _Threepio_ something was up. But I never told Zekk, and because of that he found the Second Imperium. Because of my stupidity, it was easy for Brakiss to turn my best friend into a monster that showed the New Republic no mercy.

Five years since he had left with them. Five years during which I had pleaded with the Force to make the whole awful reality simply a nightmare. Five years for me to be eaten away by the guilt. Guilt for the many Jedi he had killed—numbers that outweighed even those of the Nightsisters' murders. Guilt because he killed Tenel Ka's mother. I should have been able to stop him—I don't know how…but I should have been able to. But I had failed, and now the Empire ruled, the Jedi on the run, and my brothers and friends dead. And now I myself was a prisoner—not only to my guilt, as before, but to the very monster I unwittingly helped create.

Standing and walking, I found myself watching the Darkest Knight slumber. He looked so deceptively innocent when he slept that it was hard to believe he was the Sith Lord who had destroyed so much of my life. His hair, half a shade lighter than black, fell to his shoulders, not contrasting with his skin as it once had. While before he had been as pale as a cooked egg, now he had a subtle tan that added so much to his physical appearance.

His eyes were closed, but I knew their colour better than I knew my own name. As a girl I had gotten lost in them often—green, with a darker corona surrounding his emerald irises. They had always enchanted me so, always told me what he was thinking far better than the Force ever could.

When I had first seen him after he joined the Shadow Academy, a year after he first left, I had been stunned. His eyes, which had always been sparkling with excitement and friendship in my childhood days, were colder than a Hoth night. I shivered now, just thinking about it. The hatred…the anger…the _Darkness_ in his eyes had been so unlike the Zekk I once knew.

Uncle Luke told me that when Zekk gave himself over to Darkness, he had stopped being Zekk and had become the Darkest Knight. He told me that I would never see my friend again, that my friendship would not save him.

_But my love?_ I had asked him stubbornly, desperately. _Can't that save him?_

Uncle Luke had looked at me with the saddest eyes I had ever seen. _Your grandmother couldn't save your grandfather, Jaina_, he told me.

_You did_, I had argued.

Uncle Luke had sighed and I had felt his despair through the Force. _Jaina, you need to get past him. The odds are very much against you in this._

_I'm Corellian_, I'd answered brashly. _Odds don't mean anything to me_.

Uncle Luke had lectured me sternly about how impulsiveness and arrogance—two faults that I had in abundance, he told me bluntly—were not proper emotions for Jedi. Then he had restricted me to the Jedi Academy so that I wouldn't go after Zekk on what could be a suicidal mission.

That was perhaps the first, and last, argument about Zekk or the Force that I had with my uncle. With my mother, however, it was another matter entirely. She'd never really liked Zekk—he was someone she abided, but she thought he was a bad influence on me. When he joined the Shadow Academy, she pretended to understand but quickly lost patience my lack of acceptance. We argued often, hard and long—first about Zekk, then other things. During the war, our relationship had deteriorated faster than century-old shimmer-silk left outside in Tatooine.

Slowly, now, I shook my head out of the fog that surrounded it. It did not do to dwell on the past, something my master, Mara Jade Skywalker, often told me before she too was killed. _You cannot change the past, Jaina,_ she had often said. _And you have already put the present into motion. You can only change the future_.

Ze—the Darkest Knight began to toss in his sleep, a frown puckering his brow, his pain evident. Without thinking, I reached out to smooth his brow and send a tendril of Force-comfort to his mind. In an instant he was awake, a snarl on his face. I found myself pushed against the wall, a hand around my neck, cutting off my air supply and damaging my throat. Only when he drew his lightsaber and held it up to sever my head from my body did he seem to realize it was me.

"Solo," he hissed, releasing me. "_What_ were you doing?

I fought to get my breathing back under control without making it too obvious. Sensing that he wouldn't take kindly to being reminded of his nightmare but too ticked off to care, I tossed my hair defiantly and glared up at him. "If you _must_ know, I felt your distress through the Force. You were having a nightmare, and I was trying to calm you. Force knows why—you nearly killed me!"

He stared at me for a long moment. "You're lying."

"What—you don't believe you can have nightmares?"

"You didn't 'feel my distress through the Force,' Solo. What were you really doing?" I set my jaw and received a slap for my defiance. "Do not toy with me, Jedi."

My cheek stinging, I forced the truth that I had not admitted to myself to pass my lips. "A friend once told me that you can see who someone really is in their sleep." Despite my aching throat, I pushed on. "I wanted to see who you were."

He took a step back, his expression reading shock and…alarm? I thought fleetingly of the innocence I had seen while he slept, the hidden pain. Was it still possible after all these years…? After all, I reminded myself, my grandfather returned to the Light after close to a quarter of a century. Who was to say Zekk couldn't come back to me after five years?

"And what, pray tell," he said finally, his voice low and dangerous, "were you hoping to find?"

"What do _you_ think?"

Anger flashed across his face. "You are a fool."

I shrugged and watched him closely as he turned away from me. "Perhaps. But you want to turn me to the Dark Side; isn't that just as—if not more so—stupid?"

His voice became harder than steel and as deadly as a lightsaber. "The Dark Side is more powerful than your Light, Jedi. A fact made obvious by the Empire's success in this war."

"Are you so sure you're winning?" I retorted. "The Empire has lost before."

"And why," he demanded, spinning around to meet my gaze, "would it not?"

"The Empire is a dictatorship," I stated as I walked over to the window that went from a foot and a half above the floor to the ceiling. "The New Republic is—was—a democracy. Perhaps it was not as organized as the Empire, but it is for the people and not the leaders." I didn't look at him as I pushed aside the curtains—black, like everything else in the spacious, tastefully decorated chambers—and leaned against the wall beside the window, my fingers resting gently on the glass as I looked out into the rain. "Eventually, the people will rebel. Brakiss—"

"You would be wise to watch your words," Onyx snapped in interruption. The _Emperor_ commands respect."

"Oh, please," I snapped, still not looking at him, but rolling my eyes in exasperation. "We both know he isn't really the Emperor. He's just _Brakiss_—a Dark Jedi hiding behind the reputation of a Sith that died nearly a quarter of a century ago."

"He _is_ the Emperor."

"Then why does he need to claim to be 'Emperor Palpatine' and not 'Emperor Brakiss'?" I demanded hotly, finally turning to him. "He's nothing but a phoney."

He had his hand around my bruised throat before I could think. "Should you ever feel the need to spout such treachery again, then consider how painful I can make your death."

He continued to squeeze my throat, and blackness began to creep around the edges of my vision, my body going limp. I tried to force his name past my lips but couldn't, and instead pleaded with him with my eyes. His eyes connected with mine and he released his hold on my neck, letting me fall to the ground, gasping for breath and nearly crying from the pain.

He stood there for a moment with me at his feet, staring down at me. When he finally spoke it was with an oddly hoarse voice. "Let that be a lesson to you, Jedi Knight Solo. You mean nothing to me; I care only for the Empire and my master. Do not test my loyalty."

_Loyalty…or fear?_ I wondered, but kept my mouth shut. If he tried to choke me once more he wouldn't need to hold on for long before he simply crushed my throat.

The Darkest Knight stomped away, and I attempted to regain my composure. I stayed where I was, unable to move, and shaking from the encounter. Was there anything left of Zekk under that hateful monster? There had to be, but how could I get through to him?

An hour later, my composure was somewhat restored, though I doubted I would be doing much talking, drinking or eating anytime soon. I slowly stood, then glanced out the window at Coruscant.

Coruscant was so large, with billions of beings, the most populated world in the galaxy, making the highest percentage of the galaxy's beings on one world. And already the billions were down to perhaps hundreds millions.

Because of the Sith.

Because of the Empire.

Because of the Darkest Knight.

Because of me.

A tear slipped down my cheek but I didn't catch it. Instead, I closed my eyes and found my centre in the Force. I would need it in the many days, months, perhaps years, that I would be a prisoner to the monster I had helped create.

I crawled into my cot and curled up. Silently, I let the tears come.

(End of Jaina's POV)

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Short, I know—sorry. Another post is coming.

Please R&R!

-Tjz


	9. Ch7: A Close Call

Okay, once again, I'm really sorry for the wait—I'm re-writing/editing this all as I go, and I'm afraid I am the Queen of Procrastination…or would be, if I could be bothered to try to compete…

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**Jaina-Elessar**: I'm blushing. Thanks! And don't worry about posting—I'm always late, and _I_'m the author—the only one obligated to actually show up! ;P

**Galadia**: Thanks! I'm glad Jaina's added POV was a success—I was a little worried it would be too repetitious.

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**Always: Book I: Dejarik**

**Chapter Seven: A Close Call**

It was disgusting. Two months—barely that!—and Brakiss' Darkest Knight was falling to pieces over the Solo girl. Brakiss thought of ripping his apprentice's throat out, just for being weak. Solo had always been Zekk's weakness; even Onyx was susceptible to her. But he had not spent five years on the street rat for nothing; Onyx was Brakiss' masterpiece—flawed, true, and incomplete, but not something Brakiss was willing to give up.

"Lord Onyx has taken a new girl," the Emperor said aloud now, staring out the window.

"The girls die within days," the Dark Jedi behind him dismissed. "Onyx has never been good with the morning after."

"He is better at it than you," he retorted—he spoke of the typical, loving morning after; Brakiss did not believe in such a thing. Love…love was weakness.

"I find no comfort with women."

Brakiss turned to see this man—Devnos Klis, a ruthless Dark Jedi. Hard corners, dark hair and eyes, Devnos commanded fear from those around him. If Onyx failed, Brakiss would find a replacement in this one—but Onyx was not yet lost, as Devnos well knew. Jealousy, like ambition, was a useful tool.

_You, Klis, find comfort with nothing I can see_, Brakiss considered, but he did not ask after Devnos' tastes—well, not seriously, at the very least. "Then with men, Klis?"

Devnos made a sound of disgust.

"Indeed," Brakiss said, smiling coldly, "your planet suggests such a taste."

The muscle in Devnos' cheek twitched: the only sign of his distaste and anger. The subject of his home planet was never well received by this man. "You called me for a reason, Lord Emperor?"

Devnos really was no fun. "This girl—Onyx will not kill her."

"He _always_ kills them. Or gets rid of them." Something flicked across Devnos' face—anger? Disappointment? Brakiss would think on it later.

"Not this one." He did not elaborate. "There will be a banquet tomorrow night. No doubt the girl will find some way to wiggle out of it—it is not in her interests to be around large numbers of Imperials."

"Onyx will…leave her?" This was a twist for Devnos—he knew nothing of the Solo girl, or Onyx's obsession, or Zekk's pathetic infatuation, with her.

"She is a Jedi, so be prepared for some resistance." Brakiss fixed Devnos with a glare. "_Some_."

Devnos stood where he was, dark eyes expressionless.

"You are excused for preparation."

----

Jaina woke to a pounding on her door. "Hm?" When the sound continued, she made a noise in the back of her throat and hefted herself out of the tiny cot, wrapping the black blanket around her, her feet sinking into the plush carpet as she padded across the floor of her prison. Keying the lock pad, the door slid open, revealing Lord Onyx to Jaina's fuzzy, under-rested eyes.

"Jedi Solo," he hissed, his eyes taking in her dishevelled appearance. In the past month Jaina still hadn't gotten used to the lust in his eyes, but had learned that if she didn't react, he removed his gaze more quickly.

The Force was with her this time, and his gaze lasted only a moment before he snapped, "The Lord Emperor commands our presence for a banquet tonight, in honour of our success at Kuat."

"'Success'?" Jaina repeated numbly.

"Yes," Onyx sneered. "Kuat, and with it the ship yards to crush your precious New Republic, has surrendered to the Empire."

"Oh."

Onyx watched her take it in, silently rejoicing in the quietness of her tone and her struggle to remain impassive. She was learning quickly, but not quickly enough to escape her destiny by his side. It was only a matter of time—of pressure—before she turned.

"Your outfit will arrive at 1600. We leave at 1930. That should give you enough time to prepare."

This time Jaina kept her face and Force presence clean of any emotion, negative or otherwise. Onyx nodded his approval and she glared at him, heedless of the consequences. Before Jaina could blink, a syringe stabbed the fleshy part of her shoulder and dumped its contents into her system. The shock of her midichlorians being numbed and her Force awareness melting away sent her to her knees. Onyx, expecting the pain that was to come, shielded himself from any emotions that might leak through their bond.

"When will you learn, Solo?" he asked quietly, neither expecting nor receiving an answer. Then, louder, "I certainly hope you don't act like this at the banquet. It would be…unfortunate…if the Emperor felt you would do better under his care than mine." He smiled thinly before leaving to train the newer Force-sensitives his master had sent him.

And before Zekk tried anything.  
  
----

Slamming her eyes shut, Jaina decided that there was no way she could be looking at the outfit Onyx had sent her. She simply couldn't—not if even a speck of Zekk's decency remained. But when she opened her eyes again, it was still there. Only the lost feeling she had because of the Force suppressor kept her from screaming, "NOT ON YOUR LIFE" through her bond with Onyx. Scowling, but knowing she needed to save her energy for the harder battles that was sure to come at some point, she changed into the pants and top. 

It took her one glance in the mirror to convince her that this would be one of the battles she picked.

To say that she would not be able to wear the outfit without showing an uncomfortable amount of skin would be a lie of Death Star proportions. The top, made of shier black material, was border-line explicit. Cut short to show all her midriff and a far amount of skin above, it was enough to make Jaina blush, but not so bad that she would risk Onyx's wrath. Not to mention slavery to Brakiss, with which Onyx had already threatened her. There was however, the tightness and squared neckline that Jaina would have worn on her wedding night but not at any other time.

The pants, also black, were almost bearable, though completely unable to make up for the "shirt". Alderaanian satin, and not shier like the top, the pants slung low on her hip and tight before flaring out until it looked as if she were wearing a skirt instead of pants. On her feet were strappy sandals with four-inch heels. She'd trip wearing them, and she had the feeling that was Onyx's intention, as it would keep her incapable of fighting back.

_No way_, she thought angrily as she changed back into her normal clothes. _If Onyx thinks I'm going to dress like one of his pleasure slaves or dancers, he's got another thought coming_.  
  
----

Onyx knew exactly when Jaina saw the outfit; her broadcasted disgust and anger created something similar to a tiny earthquake in their bond, making it difficult to miss. 

Tiny, that is, in the way that the remains of Alderaan created a "tiny" asteroid field. He began walking toward his quarters quickly, leaving one of his older trainees in charge.

/_I suggest you wear it, Solo,/_ he sent through their bond, although he already had more than a hunch as to what her reaction would be.

/_No way in any of the nine Corellian hells, Onyx!/_ Jaina all but bellowed back. He wondered if she'd actually said it aloud and, if she had, why he couldn't hear her.

/_The Lord Emperor—_/

/_Has his own pleasure slaves to look at!/_

/_If you keep this up, you'll join their ranks!/_ he retorted. It was an empty threat. While Zekk was around, nothing so explicitly dangerous to Jaina's…health would happen without Zekk's protest. Zekk, Onyx had begun to learn, was a vicious adversary when it came to Jaina's well-being. However, empty threat or not, the silence on Jaina's end of their bond told him he had hit a vulnerable spot.

/_I am not going to wear that top, Onyx_,/ she sent quietly. /_I don't care about the pants but I am not going to wear that…_"top"_ without anything underneath it_./

/_Then I will notify the Emperor of your move to his quarters_./ Having already prepared himself, the battle between Onyx and Zekk was brief.

/_I won't wear it./_ Onyx barely made out the quiet, obviously scared message as he came to the door of his chambers. /_I won't_./

Lord Onyx walked through the door.  
  
----

Jaina watched as Onyx came in, Dark power emanating from him in waves. She lifted her chin defiantly. "I won't wear it. I have more self-respect than that."

Onyx didn't respond verbally, but grabbed her arm and began to drag her out.

Jaina had to swallow twice before she found the ability—and the courage—to speak. "Where are you taking me?" Her bravery was in vain, however, as he did not reply. "Onyx," she tried sharply. "I am not one of your slaves to—"

"Oh, but you are," he corrected, looking down at her, pulling her head up by her hair sharply. "You are mine to do with as I wish. It's time you got off your almighty," he yanked hard, causing her to give a quiet yelp of pain, "hovercar and learned that."

"Onyx." Jaina put as much menace into her voice as she could whilst being dragged through the halls of the Imperial Palace by a man who alternately lusted for and hated her. "Let me go. I mean it—"

Onyx growled and entered an empty training room, throwing Jaina into the centre of the room and locking the door behind them. "Do you think this is a _game_, Solo?" he demanded. "Do you think I'm not serious about turning you over to the Emperor?" When Jaina didn't answer, he thrust out a hand and called Darkness to his fingertips, releasing it in a furious jolt of anger and hatred. Zekk roared angrily as Jaina fell to the floor, a whimper of pain escaping her. "_Answer_ me when I ask you something!"

Jaina pulled herself up from the floor, her hair spilling around her shoulders. Although shaken, her expression was disdainful. "I won't turn because of a little Dark lightning, Onyx. If that's your game plan, you're going to fail pretty badly."

"Oh, so the righteous little princess has decided to grace me with her words, has she?" Onyx sneered. "You always did think you were better than me—and everyone else, for that matter."

Jaina shook her head. "Wrong—on both accusations."

"Won't even admit the truth now, Solo?"

"I always told _Zekk_ everything I could, Onyx."

Onyx slapped her to the floor. "Watch your words, Solo," he hissed. "I am the only obstacle between you and your destruction."

"How can you destroy someone who is already dead?" she muttered, thinking of Jacen's death and her mother's betrayal.

"What was that?" Onyx snapped, Zekk rebelling against him once more. Splitting his attention was dangerous; every time he had to concentrate on suppressing Zekk and speaking to her, Zekk seemed to come that much closer to escaping.

"You're treading dangerous ground, Jaina. Bury your grief deep or the Emperor and Lord Onyx will exploit it."

"Nothing."

Zekk beaten back once more, Onyx studied her briefly before turning away. "Good." He paused momentarily. "You are to wear the outfit I sent you. You will behave accordingly and—"

"No." Jaina lifted her tired body from the floor and stood, eyes clear and hands steady. Seeing Onyx's icy green eyes flash, she swallowed and repeated, "No."

Onyx felt Darkness fly through his veins, overwhelming every emotion but anger and hatred. "Very well then." Onyx picked an electro-jabber and started toward Jaina.

Jaina closed her eyes and accepted the consequences of her defiance.  
  
----

Onyx had disinfected his hands seven times and still he could not seem to get Jaina's blood off him. It had been several hours since he had finished pouring out his wrath on her, and still he could feel Jaina's anguish leaking through their bond as he beat her. His mind still throbbed with his own pain from Zekk's protective rage—and now grief—at said beating. 

Hiding his discomfiture with the ease of years of practice, Onyx took a sip of wine and attempted to distract himself with the brunette sitting next to him. Dressed in the outfit Onyx had planned on seeing Jaina wear, the dancing girl resembled Jaina so strongly that even Jacen would have looked twice. The differences were slight—the dancer lived to be seductively attractive though it was likely to wither once her peak ended, while Jaina's beauty was natural, pure and—if her mother was any indication—timeless.

Allowing his eyes to wander over the dancer in a way that he had yet to even think of doing with Jaina, he decided that if Jaina insisted on being so stubborn, this dancer was the next best choice.

Not that it would help the dancer any.

"See something you like, my Lord?" the dancer—was her name Narai?—purred, leaning closer. Despite her words, a part of her aura read detached—odd, for a slave girl.

Onyx attempted a smile. "A piece of art that I would be interested in studying, my lady."

An almost wolfish smile spread across her face as her eyes darkened. Somehow, the two didn't appear to coincide in emotions. "Well, perhaps we shall find a break in the banquet to study this…'piece of art' together," she invited.

"Perhaps," he agreed, trying to push down Zekk and the image of Jaina, not as he had left her—though even bruised there had been beauty to her—but as he had always remembered her, whether as Zekk or Onyx. The way he saw her in his dreams—the only worthwhile memory he had of when Zekk was in control. But, he reminded himself, now was not the time to think of Jaina Solo, but to forget her.

There was a powerful ripple throughout the Force as Brakiss, with a powerful holo-mask—made all but real with a Force illusion—that made him appear to be Emperor Palpatine, entered the room, two of his Imperial Guards following close behind.

"What is this?" he demanded in a distantly jovial way, rather unlike the actual Palpatine. "Why is no one dancing? The Rebels will soon be crushed." When no one moved, the Emperor looked to his Darkest Knight and protégé. "Lord Onyx! I see you have a beautiful woman by your side—will you not dance with her?"

Onyx pursed his lips but forced a smile. "Of course, my Lord Emperor," he said, bowing deeply to his master then, bending slightly at the waist, to his female companion. "Would you do me the honour of this dance?"

Narai—or was it Saran? He never could remember their names—smiled and accepted his offered hand. "The honour would be mine, my Lord," she said, sounding innocent, almost vulnerable, and so much—and so little—like Jaina that Onyx had to notice how false she—and all the women he had known—were. Compared to the brunette he had beaten and locked into the training room... No, there was no comparison. Not a one could measure up.

Onyx smiled and led Saran—or was it Nisan?—to the dance floor, when all he wanted to do was grimace and sink to the floor, mourning over what he might never—and maybe could have—had with Jaina.  
  
----

Sanar Klis was no fool. She had seen—done—too much to be naïve, particularly when it came to men. She knew, even as Lord Onyx pulled her to the middle of the dance floor, that Lord Onyx had soft tendencies toward few—if any—beings. Many of his girls steered clear of him for as long as they could in favour of softer, more predictable men. 

With Lord Onyx, no one knew quite how they would be treated. Some girls—the ones, Sanar suspected, that had not slept with him—came back showered in jewels, looking like queens and with a twinkle in their eye that spoke of a knowing many became desperate to have. Sanar found it a beautiful thing of fate to know that all the girls who came back looked much like her. All, however—even the ones Onyx favoured—disappeared eventually, and so the dancing girls and pleasure slaves were torn between fantasizing and being terrified of the day they would be called.

Sanar, however, had never been faint of heart.

Four years ago, Onyx had saved her life. About to be stoned on her home planet, Sanar had given up hope, and then…

And then.

Out of the corner of her eye, she had spotted a black-clad, marble figure. At first he had been only vaguely interested by what was happening, casting a curious eye over the rabble. But then had doubled back, eyes locking on her, softening for a split second before he raised his shields again. Abruptly, he had marched through the crowd, hurrying up to her and ordering Wyplan to drop his rocks.

The Empire had always had a little control on her home planet; at the very least, they had contacts. So her would-be executioners had stopped when Onyx ordered her pardon. She had walked away, free in body if not from the memories, and had even been given a ride off-planet. She had not seen Onyx again after he saved her, but her brother's stories of heroes had been brought forward in her mind.

It took a year for a Dark Jedi to discover her and her Force potential. It took another long year of training, bribery and seduction to be chosen as one of Lord Onyx's dancers.

He didn't recognize her—she knew that. But she knew him, and…pityingly enough…she hoped he would be different. For years the male gender had stomped all over her dignity, taking everything she had; Onyx had returned a piece of it. Such an act…that deserved a reward, didn't it? At least, with Onyx, she would not be forced into his bed.

Sanar had nothing to lose.

----

Jaina looked up as someone—make that some_ones_—came into the room. Jaina didn't have to reach out with the Force to know they were Dark. "Well, what have we here?" a voice asked mockingly as the lights flicked on.

Jaina blinked against the bright light to see five Dark Jedi—just under Onyx in rank, judging by their swagger—beginning to move toward her corner of the room. Her instincts flaring, Jaina attempted to stand and nearly screeched from the agony. If she hadn't known that her injuries had re-opened as a result of coming out of a healing trance so abruptly, she would have thought the Force returning to her was merely a hallucination on her part. Using the Force to boost her strength, Jaina met the leading man's eye defiantly—something that seemed to be getting her in a lot of trouble lately.

One of men, not the one Jaina had engaged in a stare down, reached out to caress her cheek but backed away when Jaina snarled at him. "She wears the robe of a slave," he remarked thoughtfully, his eyes skimming over her curves in a way that made Jaina long for anyone else's—even Onyx's—gaze.

The leader's eyes met Jaina's and she saw not the lustful beast that she would have preferred—it would be easier to accept—but the eyes of an intelligent young man who knew what he wanted.

And how to get it.

"Yes," the leader murmured. "That she does." He paused for a moment before flashing what Jaina guessed was supposed to be a charming smile. "So tell me, my pretty one: Who do you belong to?"

She glared up at him, continuing to allow the Force to fill her. "No one, and never you, loser," she gritted out.

The five Dark men smiled and, despite Jaina's best efforts, fear struck her heart.  
  
----

Brakiss pulled his protégé to the side. "Where is _your Jaina_?" he asked, sarcastically stressing the end. 

Onyx's lips thinned and he subtly strengthened his shields to hide his anger and near-hatred toward the man beside him. "The last I saw her she was lying on the floor in room T683 where I left her."

"You never change, Lord Onyx." Brakiss smirked scornfully.

"My private affairs are my own matter," Onyx gritted out. "You need not concern yourself with them."

"Come now, my young apprentice; when you make yourself this predictable your matters are no longer private."

Onyx gave the Emperor a cold stare. "And _what_ is that supposed to mean?"

The Emperor scowled darkly. "Whenever your Jaina thwarts you, you bring some willing look-alike, then kill them because they don't 'satisfy' you. You make a fool of the Empire and yourself over a _girl_. There are times, Onyx, when you prove yourself unworthy of being my Darkest Knight."

Lord Onyx tensed, his temper rising. "The apprentice reflects the master, my Lord Emperor."

Brakiss' face darkened. "Remember this, child: I took you in when no one wanted you; I made you who are today. I have given you everything—and I can take it all away." With a last glare, the Emperor left his fuming apprentice on the side of the dance floor.

----

Jaina chose her moment to fight back carefully. Her body, damaged as it was, would never be a match for six men. No matter how convincingly childhood fairy tales said good always won over evil, she knew her limit. She would only have one chance to use the element of surprise, the only ally she had in her situation. 

When the leader—_cut off the head of a snake and it dies_, she reminded herself—leaned in, his hands cupping toward her neck, Jaina threw her fist out, allowing it to connect with his jaw, just as Mara had taught her. The added Force-power behind her punch caused the shocked man to fly across the room.

Using every pain-relieving technique she had ever learned and many she had only _heard_ of, Jaina stood—painfully—and walked toward the exit as quickly as she could. She hoped desperately that her daring move would cause the men freeze in shock, allowing her to escape.

No such luck.

One of the men, a redhead, recovered quickly and shot electricity from his fingers into her bloody back, causing her to fall to the ground in agony.

When she managed to force her eyes open once more, the men were moving toward her, their expressions alternating between lustful and furious. She closed her eyes again. _Owch_, she whimpered silently, just before the kick flying toward her head sent her into quiet oblivion.  
  
----

There was a cry sent unintentionally through the Force and Onyx pulled away from the, by now, scantily dressed dancer. Narai—or was it Rana?—made a soft sound, almost a gasp, as they lost contact. "My Lord?" she asked, her voice husky. 

As he focused inward, the cry echoed through his mind once more, this time more pained and desperate.

It echoed through him a third time, more faintly than the first two sounds. This time, he recognized the "voice" with a sick jolt. _Jaina_, Onyx and Zekk gasped at the same time as they felt the only person they both held close cry out.

----

Sanar watched, dumbfounded, as Onyx pulled his clothes and robe on impossibly fast, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste. "My Lord?" she repeated. What was going on? Had the Emperor summoned him? "What is it?" 

He didn't answer as he grabbed his lightsaber from his bedstead. He all but ran out the door, leaving Sanar to wonder at Lord Onyx's odd behaviour and at the odd Force ripple she had felt pass through him and the very atmosphere.

----

Devnos had always made it his business to know who was on his side, and so he was quite aware of his place among the Emperor's favoured. When he had been discovered four years ago, the Emperor had taken more time training him than with any other trainee. Still, when Brakiss had told Devnos that he would soon be the new Darkest Knight, Devnos had known that this was merely Brakiss' way of getting rid of Onyx. To most, the idea of plotting against Onyx was terrifying; even Brakiss, Devnos had been disgusted to realize, possessed an overdue amount of fear in regards to his star apprentice. If killing Onyx hadn't fit with Devnos' own plans, he wouldn't have bothered.

Pushing his disdain away for later, Devnos returned to the present as he watched Onyx race through the halls in a way most unbefitting of the Darkest Knight of the Empire. _Who would have thought_ _that Lord Onyx, a Sith apprentice with powers rivalling those of Vader, would have a weakness for such a fragile, if spirited, girl?_ Devnos smiled grimly as he remembered how it had taken only one kick to knock the girl out, stopping her from causing any more trouble. Too easy.

He glanced at the holocam screen, zooming in on the view of the girl. All Onyx's dancers looked alike, but this one was obviously the girl Onyx had been trying to find in his slaves. Onyx was far too smug; it would be a pleasure to watch him as his precious girl died, even as Onyx could do nothing to save her—her, the only thing that Onyx still cared for. If her death didn't destroy the Darkest Knight, nothing would.

Devnos smiled when he felt Onyx approach the training room. _A pleasure indeed_.  
  
----

(Onyx/Zekk POV) 

I had raced through hallways in a fog, until I felt Jaina, far too faintly for my liking, on the other side of the door. At first, I had expected Zekk or Onyx to fight against it, but for once they were unified in their sentiments: Jaina was precious. Anyone who attempted to hurt her would be ripped to shreds.

For the first time in years, I felt Onyx listen to one of Zekk's plans.

But my shock of the millennia came next, as Onyx moved to the side, letting Zekk join him in the driver's seat.

I pushed through the door, allowing both Onyx's and Zekk's determined rage boost my power to a new level.

Whoever was hurting Jaina would pay.

(End of Onyx/Zekk POV)  
  
----

Devnos watched Onyx enter wrathfully, black cape swirling and green eyes flashing with a fury beings rarely lived to tell of. If Devnos had been a poetic person, he might have thought Onyx looked like an avenging angel, come to save his ladylove. He had turned his back on the arts many years ago, however, and he instead saw reality: a very pissed off Sith (only technically an apprentice), with enough Grey in him to be an enigma to both Dark-siders and Jedi, coming to save the girl that he—in his own way—loved. Upon reflection, Devnos would have preferred the avenging angel. 

Suddenly realizing just _how_ furious Onyx was, Devnos shuddered, wondered if this was it.

He watched, curiously still, as Onyx slaughtered the Dark Jedi—all trained as assassins by the very best—one by one. Devnos had seen Onyx fight many times, but never before had he seen the Darkest Knight battle as he did now. Every move was precise and deadly. It was a ruthless, dreadful dance, and Devnos wondered if the sight would ever leave him.

When Onyx grabbed the last Dark Jedi, he yelled something that Devnos could not understand. The intent, however, was obvious: Onyx planned to interrogate the man. Devnos reached out with the Force and crushed the assassin's windpipe, killing him instantly, before turning and stalking from the viewing room.

He was thwarted, this time, but he would be back. His ambition demanded it.

--------------------

**Alright, not to excuse my extreme and constant lateness, but I _have_ been doing other stuff—working on my new website, for one, but also posting a new vignette, The Tally. It's Jaina/Zekk…ish… Which reminds me, to your comment, Jaina-Elessar—yes, of course Zekk gets the girl! But does Jaina get the guy? Hmm… But that'll be explained later ;)**

**Please R&R!**

**-Tjz**


	10. Ch8: Haven

**You really don't even need to say it. I'm painfully aware of how long this took—and I even gave up three-fourths of the way through "rewriting" the post! /cringes/ I'm so, so, so, _so_ sorry, guys. My only defence is lame—I hate this chapter perhaps more than any other in this fic, and so I procrastinated right into November, when I did NaNoWriMo. I promise to do better. The posts are more manageable after this…**

--

**Jaina-Elessar**: "does Jaina get the guy?" Like I'll say! ;) There are…complications…ahead /evil grin/.

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**(Because it's been so disgustingly long since I updated…) _Previously on "Always I: Dejarik"…_**

-Brakiss and a Dark Jedi named Devnos (who's rather important in the sequel, btw) had a chat—about Jaina and Onyx. Brakiss implicated that he wanted his ambitious would-be future Darkest Knight to do away with Jaina.

-Onyx and Jaina got in an argument about a distasteful outfit that Onyx wanted to parade Jaina around in; she refused, and was punished for it.

-Onyx left Jaina in an unused training room and headed off to a banquet…more than a little unsettled by his guilt for what he did to Jaina. He distracted himself with a dancing slave named Sanar Klis, who bears a striking resemblance to Jaina.

-Jaina was attacked by a group of men (sent out by Devnos)

-Onyx felt Jaina's pain through their bond, and raced off to save the day. He came, he saw, he furied, he conquered. But Devnos wasn't at the scene of the crime, and Onyx doesn't know about his involvement, or Brakiss' desire to kill off Jaina.

------

_Onyx and Zekk do some "bond-talking" here...words between Z/ and /Z are Zekk talking to Onyx, and words between O/ and /O are Onyx talking to Zekk._

----------

**Chapter Eight: Haven**

---

Zekk/Onyx deactivated his lightsaber and all but ran to Jaina, who was groggily and painfully coming to. Kneeling beside her, he brushed her hair out of her face, scanning her features. She began to say something, then grimaced in pain, and he winced at how frail her voice was, feeling another flash of anger as he noticed that her throat was a mottled purple.

Jaina felt a finger rest on her lips, and she looked up. Her first instinct, at seeing the familiar face, was to snap at the Darkest Knight, or pun her way out of the awkwardness that came with him saving her. The warmth in his eyes, however, stunned her into silence until… "Zekk?" she said, ignoring Onyx/Zekk's attempt to quiet her. The moment his name left her lips, she berated herself. _Stupid girl—Zekk's gone. Why don't you just tape "Weakness: Zekk" on your forehead, and let Onyx plough over your heart? It couldn't hurt more than what you're doing to yourself, seeing Zekk in Onyx._

Zekk's heart cracked at the soft emotion in her voice. _If only_… He shook off his regrets. There would be plenty of time to wallow in guilt, regret and pain in the abyss… Right now, Jaina was more important. Before he could answer her, however, Onyx began to slowly push Zekk back. Onyx/z began to pick Jaina up, but stopped at her mental screech of pain. When Onyx attempted to relieve her agony, he was blocked. Her Light presence was unable to stand Onyx's Darkness touch her very being so intimately.

Z/_Let me help her_/Z

Onyx hesitated, then lowered the gates that kept Zekk imprisoned, allowing Zekk to have a small portion of control. O/_If you try anything, I'll never let you out again. Believe that_/O

Zekk didn't respond to Onyx's threat, but instead sent Light side healing to Jaina, and gently pulled her into his arms. It was the best he could do—and more than he had ever expected—but never enough.

The blackness—not of pain but of healing sleep—began to seep into Jaina's mind, lulling her, and pushing the galaxy and her troubles away. Vaguely, she felt someone pull her close, lifting her off the ground into a firm but tender embrace. Even in her foggy state, she recognized the person who held her. For a flicker of a second, something told her that it couldn't be him because…

But the logic floated away as he pulled her even closer for a moment, placing his lips on her crown in a kiss so gentle, so loving, that she trembled. Before drifting away from consciousness and the _right_ness of this, she snuggled as deeply as she could into Zekk's chest, a small smile on her face.

----

Feeling Onyx approach his quarters, Sanar raised her mental defences in wariness. It didn't help, however, because shock was added to her already tumultuous emotions, making it impossible to shield, when she saw Onyx gently nudge the door open, a bloody, beaten girl in his arms. She opened her mouth to ask what was going on but, as if he had sensed it, he sent her a dangerous look, as if daring her to even try.

She kept her mouth shut; Sanar wasn't confident enough in the night's events to antagonize him.

Pushing aside her questions until later, Sanar watched in silence as Onyx used the Force to open the door to one of the side rooms, the girl still nestled safely (and wasn't that an ironic adjective?) in his arms.

The sheet she had been holding in front of her fluttered as Sanar fell back onto the bed, hair splayed across the pillow like dark shimmer silk, as her confusion continued to grow.

----

(Zekk's POV)

I placed Jaina on the bed, barely daring to breathe for fear of waking her. She needed rest to heal; I didn't know enough about medicine to compete with her body's natural defences. When I began to slide my hands out from under her back, and pull a blanket up to her shoulders, Jaina released a soft whimper of protest, and her hand suddenly held my arm in a death grip.

I paused for a moment, wondering how much I dared. Z/_Let me stay—just a bit longer_/Z

O/_You have already had longer than I planned to give you_/O

Z/_You've had four years of control. Can't I have even a little time with her?/_Z

I expected to be shot down, but instead Onyx showed a rare moment of mercy. O/_A little longer_/O

Perhaps, if Onyx was my darker side, letting me float above the abyss was the cruellest punishment for what I had done: to see and hold Jaina again, and to know that I would fall back into the abyss and leave her alone with Onyx.

With me.

The bed would have been far too intimate, and if Jaina woke up, I didn't want to freak her out. Force knew, she had to hate me enough, for what I had done; she didn't need to worry that I would take advantage of her. After brief pondering, I carried her to the couch, and settled into the cushions comfortably. Half-sitting, and half-lying down, I positioned Jaina so that she lay between me and the couch, her head resting on my chest.

Free of the abyss—for the moment—and Jaina in my arms, I fell into a peaceful sleep.

(End of Zekk's POV)

----

Sanar's mind replayed Onyx's entrance once again, the way he had held the girl, as if she were a glass masterpiece. The only thing in his galaxy; the one important piece of his life. More disturbing than the idea of a Sith apprentice treating a girl with reverence, was the Force bond that tied Onyx and the other girl together. It had been so strong, Sanar could barely call it a "bond"—a soulmate connection, perhaps, if one believed in such naïve stories.

The first rays of the morning sun danced in the shimmer of her hair as Sanar's focus began to leave the girl and wander to Onyx. What could be taking the man so long? If he was screwing her, Sanar would have heard something, but if he was killing her, shouldn't he be done by now? Her suspicions grew until finally, sighing, she swung her legs out of the bed. Wrapping one of the sheets around her body, she walked to the door through which Onyx had disappeared.

Reaching it, she hesitated. Did she really want to know what lay on the other side? She had seen both lurid and gory scenes before—had even been a part of them—but Sanar was in no hurry to lose any innocence that she might, by some miracle, still possess. Swallowing, she opened the door, her eyes going first to the bed, which was empty. Off to the side was a hover-couch that angled to keep its occupants just out of her line of vision.

Sanar braced herself and moved quietly to the couch, making herself look. Her eyes fluttered closed in pain but the image of the girl, draped between the couch and Onyx, eyes closed peacefully, taunted her. Onyx's arms held the girl close, one wrapped protectively, almost possessively, around her waist, the other resting gently on her bruised neck.

Something sank inside of Sanar as she turned and walked away.

_Nothing ever changes_.

She smacked the activation panel on the doorway, opening up her escape from the room, but she let it close without a sound.

----

(Zekk's POV)

A slapping sound woke me, and I reluctantly pried my eyes open. Sensing no one, and not daring to move for some reason that my sleep-hazed mind had yet to inform me of, I sighed before the current circumstances came rushing back to me. I blinked several times in surprise, hardly daring to believe that Onyx had not yet imprisoned me once more. The pliable weight that pressed against my body, and the clean, softly feminine scent that reached my nose, however, proved it to be true. In my dreams in the abyss, smell and physical touch had never been this realistic.

Shifting my head slightly, my eyes found Jaina and—feeling suddenly very glad that I had awoken—my breath caught. The rising sun cast gentle beams of light over Jaina's face, causing her hair to shimmer a thousand different colours.

If she had ever looked more beautiful my mind was too overwhelmed to recall it.

_How is it_, I wondered, _that she can be bruised, bloody, and still cause my pulse to race?_ The reminder that she was, in fact, hurt, caused me to push away all other thoughts and attempt to move out from under her, only to feel her begin to waken. Her hand—which I only now realized had been lying at the top of my shoulder—slid down to my chest, causing the fabric of Onyx's (my) shirt to ripple.

As I watched, her eyes fluttered open and she stretched like a pleased Yavin lynx. Her eyes met mine in momentary confusion before recognition flashed. She studied me very carefully (desperately) for a moment before speaking. "Zekk," she said, her soft voice and small smile causing my nerves to tingle all over.

Unable to speak, I nodded.

A smile spread over her features, just the way I remembered it: bright, and with that odd shade of emotion I had never been able to pin, adding a sparkle to her eyes. "You're back?" she asked, hope further brightening her countenance.

I attempted a smile, delighted and disgusted by the way it strained my mouth muscles. "For now." Jaina bit her lip and looked away, but not before I saw the crushing disappointment that darkened her eyes.

I had hurt her again. The realization slammed into my chest, making me want to cry out in pain, but the pain was too deep even for that.

Feeling my distress, Jaina turned back, her expression concerned. "How long?" she asked in an attempt, I supposed, to distract me. I shrugged, and we lapsed into silence.

Subtly, my nerves began to tingle, acknowledging the soft rubbing of Jaina's fingers on my chest. Bolts of lightning pulsed through my blood, and I tensed, fighting my reaction. I had hurt her enough. Pressuring her to feel even friendship toward me would be cruel; to make her feel as if she needed to love me would be sadistic. I knew Jaina—she was too good a person, a friend, to not feel guilty that she didn't return my feelings.

Perhaps she caught the direction of my thoughts, because Jaina sat up, liquid brown eyes flashing. "We don't have enough time for you to throw a pity party, Zekk. Sithspawn, if we have enough time to talk you can colour me purple."

I stared at her hand, still on my chest, supporting her, resting below the base of my neck. Deciding it could be mistaken for a friendly gesture, I gave it a tug, felling her back into my embrace. I thought I heard her gasp, but dismissed it. "We're talking now," I said quietly.

When I craned my neck to look into her face, her smile was crooked. "This is the first time we've really talked in four years…and you think this is a worthy topic of conversation?"

"You'd be surprised at the kind of gems you can find among the unworthy," I answered, thinking of the difference between her and so many other upper-class beings.

"I know," she said, her voice unexpectedly tender. "After all, I found you, didn't I?" Jaina's gaze met mine and something passed through us, giving, taking, healing, intensifying our connection.

My heart pounding and my mind too fried to think clearly, I cupped her face with my hands, tugging her closer to me. It was only when I realized that her lips, parted slightly, were bare centimetres from mine that I stopped, my mind reeling in horror at my lack of self-control. Desperately reining myself in, I directed (forced) my lips to instead press against her forehead.

"Yes," I said, swallowing. "You did."

When I pulled away, I caught a brief glimpse of hurt (disappointment?) in her eyes. "You always did insist on considering me a child," she said flatly.

I nearly burst out laughing at the absurdity of her statement. Every fibre of my being (not to mention the less noble side of me) craved her, and screamed in agony as I denied it yet again. My need for her was so extreme that I could barely breathe as it lit my body on fire. My heart ached for her, and yet there she lay, completely unaware of her effect on me, claiming I thought her a child.

"No," I said, giving her a half smile as I stroked her cheek before pulling her as close as I dared. "Believe me, I have _never_ seen you as a child, Jaina."

(End of Zekk's POV)

----

_Never seen you as a child?!_ Jaina wondered chaotically. _What the kriff are you up to, Zekk? _And what had just happened? Zekk had been about to kiss her, of that she was certain—at least, as sure as she could be with her complete and almost embarrassing lack of experience. And yet, at the last moment, he had erected walls around himself and—barely—kissed her forehead.

Well, if she'd had any doubts about her role in his life they were now thoroughly crushed. She wasn't even sure if he remembered that she wasn't his little sister. Maybe she wasn't even a _friend_ anymore. She was beginning to suspect that if someone told him she was from another family he'd fall over from shock. _So much for a second chance_, she thought glumly.

Zekk suddenly slid out from under her, and she looked up, feeling the loss of his body keenly. "Where are you going?" she asked.

He averted his eyes. "You're hurt."

Jaina blinked in surprise, then looked down. She jolted a little when she saw the bloodstains on her clothes and the bruises and abrasions on her skin. Slowly, her disappointment at Zekk's lack of romantic attention drifted away, and pain flooded her senses, causing her to whimper softly. Instantly Zekk's brow furrowed in concern, and he knelt next to the couch, claiming her hands with his. "Jay?"

There was something in his voice, something that made her look up, hope sparking in her heart once more. Perhaps she was being foolish but she could swear that his voice was more tender that it would be with anyone else…but of course it was folly. There was nothing other than friendly (_brotherly_) concern in his emerald eyes, and Jaina's heart crashed upon reality once more.

She tore her eyes from him, wishing she had a blanket with which to hide her beaten body. "I'll be fine. Don't worry about it."

Zekk watched her, a frown of concern etched on his face. Ignoring her protests, he stood. "I'm going to get the med-kit."

Jaina's head jerked up, her hand catching his. "No!" When Zekk stared at her as if she were a science experiment gone wrong, she blushed and backtracked. "I mean, it's nothing a healing trance won't fix."

"The healing trance will take less time if you put bacta patches on your wounds. Don't be stupid, Jaina; your wounds are serious. Now isn't the time for heroics." Jaina looked stunned by his blunt delivery of words, but for once Zekk ignored it. Any scrap of self-control that he still possessed could only be helped by detachment.

Detachment. From Jaina. From Jaina, who had—just moments ago—been lying right on top of him. Right.

This time, when Zekk moved toward the door, Jaina didn't protest. He returned in moments, med-kit in hand. Working quickly, he placed the bacta patches and bandages over her numerous wounds, praying that his clinical frame of mind wouldn't slip and allow his hands to linger and notice the softness of her skin.

Seeing no more serious injuries, Zekk breathed a sigh of relief.

Jaina frowned. "You mis—" She cut herself off. If Zekk had been a med-droid she would have felt more physical warmth in his touch. _Scratch the little sister role_, she thought darkly. _Zekk feels as much for me as he would a stranger_. She had no desire to have that fact pounded into her head for the third time in a few hours.

"What was that?" Zekk asked curiously as he placed as much distance between himself and his own form of temptation without looking suspicious. It didn't, he noticed despairingly, do much good as his hands could still feel her skin.

Jaina shook her head, shifting so that her back was hidden. "Nothing."

His eyes narrowed in suspicion. "What did I miss?"

To her credit, Jaina kept her flustered emotions from her face, but Zekk recognized them too well. It was the same expression she wore when Leia had demanded an explanation for Jaina's absence during a political banquet.

"Well, my leg just kind of ached but—"

"Jaina," Zekk said warningly. Her legs held only bruises and they both knew it.

Jaina's shoulders slumped and Zekk could almost see her weighing the pros and cons of telling the truth. Finally, her eyes met his. "My back is starting to numb." When he only stared at her, she added, "I think my nerves are, ah, kinda in shock…I mean, not permanently but for now and—"

Burying the lump that had found itself lodged in his throat, Zekk forced himself to say something, anything. "I see."

"It's nothing a healing trance won't fix," Jaina was quick to assure him, her eyes darting around the room.

"If you went into a healing trance with your nerves numb you could damage them permanently," Zekk reprimanded, still staring at her. "You'd have scars for sure."

Jaina winced. "Oops."

His breath left him in a whoosh. "You already went into a healing trance?"

Jaina began to fumble for words. "Before—well, before they, that is, the assassins, came I thought I should—I mean, I wasn't thinking too clearly cuz…well, that doesn't matter but—"

Zekk swallowed. "There should be something you can use to, er, cover your—front with. You should lie on the bed, uh, I guess. Um…I'll be—right back."

Jaina watched, partly amused, mostly surprised, as Zekk all but ran from the room. What had gotten into him _now_? Sighing, she stood and went to the closet. Having Zekk close, touching her and yet not caring, was not something she looked forward to.

----

(Zekk's POV)

It had been five minutes since I left the room and I was no closer to grasping some form of control than I had been when I first walked out. To think I could continue to bury my feelings for Jaina as I had been for ten years…to think I could keep my love (and lust) out of my touch…well, the very idea was absurd.

But I had to, for Jaina's sake.

Swallowing, I started toward the door. I paused a moment when I reached it, putting into practice every exercise of control I (Onyx) had ever learned. _Force be with me,_ I pleaded silently.

But that would just be too much to ask, wouldn't it?

(End of Zekk's POV)

----

Jaina knew exactly when Zekk entered the room. It wasn't a matter of using her Force perception, but instead a recognition of the change in the atmosphere. It was in the way her skin began to tingle and even her most delicate hairs raised. Everything—sound, emotion, thought, sight—became unreal, blurry, until all she could be sure of was that she loved him.

And, of course, that he didn't feel the same way.

But that didn't matter—at least, not at the moment; she was too worried about how a damaged back might be exploited by the Empire during and (if she survived) after her imprisonment. But she'd ponder it later, Jaina knew. Eventually, she had to.

At first, Zekk did not approach her and Jaina wondered why, until she felt something close to fear radiating from him. Her confusion increased ten-fold. Twisting around on the bed awkwardly—and painfully, her eyes found him next to the door, studying his feet.

"As much as I'm sure it would make life a lot easier," Jaina said dryly, "I don't think your feet hold the key to the secret truths of the universe, Zekk."

Zekk's head jerked up at the sound of her voice, his reflexes and not his mind controlling the action. For a second Jaina could see past his tight shields he had kept up and into his soul. For a second, she could see the way his eyes took their time taking in her curves and the expanse of her uncovered and shadowed back. For a second, she could have sworn she saw desire and love in his gaze.

Jaina's breath caught, her emotions in turmoil. For the first time in recent memory, and at perhaps the most inconvenient time possible, Jaina was speechless.

Then the second ended, and he found his control, and his expression became guarded again. But, he saw immediately, it was too late.

Jaina knew.

----

Zekk's blood ran cold, freezing in his veins, as his heart stopped beating in fear and panic. His head spun as the silent words in her gaze ran around inside his head. _Sheknowssheknowssheknowsshe_… "Jay, I can explain," he started, his voice cracking.

Jaina didn't break their eye contact, scared he might run if she did, and anchored the sheet tightly to her body as she began to sit up. She couldn't let him run, not now; not when she finally knew. "Zekk—"

He swallowed the gasp of anguish that tried to escape his lips as Jaina's pain flooded his senses, compliments of their bond. He was beside her in an instant, his words sharp and urgent, almost a command. "Stop moving before you paralyse yourself."

She looked pale as he gently moved her back down on the bed, being careful of her back and making sure she was covered. She didn't fight against him and that, more than anything, told him just how much pain she was in. Any other time she probably would have found it patronizing. "It didn't hurt like that before," she complained weakly.

_Kriff_ he swore silently, being careful to shield so that she wouldn't catch on to how bad that could be. "Sithspit, Jaina, how do you get yourself into these messes?" he asked in frustration.

Jaina didn't answer, so Zekk opened the med-kit, pulling out bandages, a syringe, and a disinfectant cloth. He didn't give himself time to think before he pulled the blanket she'd covered herself with away from her back.

He stared at her bare back in shock, any control he'd attempted to find, had found, slipping away completely. "Emperor's black bones," he breathed, his pain almost physical, his voice broken. "What did I do to you?"

Jaina began to twist around, probably to tell him it wasn't his fault, but Zekk pressed against her left shoulder as lightly, but firmly, as he could, preventing her from moving further.

Zekk couldn't tear his gaze away from Jaina's ravaged back. A part of him wouldn't allow it, and he couldn't help from looking very closely at the open wounds. His stomach clenched, bile rising in the back of his throat. If she'd been placed on a spiked bed of superheated coals and dragged across it, Zekk doubted he would have noticed a difference. From the ghastly burns that were close to bubbling before Onyx— or was it Zekk? After all they _were_ the one and the same— had stopped, to the half healed knife slashes, Jaina's back was akin to newly turned soil.

"An ugly sight," Jaina remarked, feeling his horror leak through the Force and forcing a hollow laugh. "Am I not?"

Acting on impulse, and with a push from something—the Force?—Zekk leaned in, letting his lips find the curve of her neck. "No," he corrected, his lips brushing her skin as he spoke. "You are always beautiful, my Light."

Before he could realized what was happening, Jaina's hand snaked up and around his neck, keeping him close. Zekk found it hard to breathe as he caught an image from Jaina's mind. An image which revealed to him that the only thing keeping her from turning over and pulling him on top of her, was the pain in her back. _This isn't happening_.

"Your Light?" she murmured curiously.

Deciding he had nothing to lose as anything he had to be better than the torture of not being able to show her how he felt, he answered truthfully. "Yes." He knelt on the floor so that he was closer, and far more comfortable. Not, he thought darkly, that he deserved it. "Do you remember Mon Calamari?"

He could almost see her eyebrow arching sardonically in his mind. "You mean where I 'died'?"

Zekk tensed at the reminder of the hell he had gone through upon thinking her dead. "Yes," he almost croaked. "Before Mon Cal I couldn't—I was unaware of everything. It was like being asleep. All I knew was shadows…wisps of smoke. A fog, really. After Mon Cal…I guess you triggered something because I…" he sighed in frustration. Why couldn't he find the words to explain what had happened? "I don't know…the best way I can explain it is that I…woke up. There was suddenly a light at the end of the abyss—you."

Jaina was quiet for a long time until Zekk began to worry that she was contemplating the most heart wrenching way she could throw his confession back in his face. Standing, he began to prepare the syringe he had placed to the side.

"I always wondered if it worked," she said finally, so softly that he had to lean in. "I was beginning to think I just made things worse." She paused a long moment, as if wondering if she should continue. Hesitantly, she did so. "Do you remember what I said?"

Zekk shook his head. "No. The first thing I remembered was…" his voice trailed off.

"My 'death,'" Jaina finished wearily. "I was afraid of that. Did you ever check Onyx's mind to see if he knew?"

"Onyx _is_ me, Jay. Everything he knows, I know."

Jaina snorted. "Really? Then who's Mathair?"

Zekk pulled a blank. "I don't know," he admitted.

She hissed as he injected her with the painkiller. "She was Brakiss' mistress and choice assassin for three years. When she began to replace him, Onyx killed her."

Zekk swallowed as the atrocities he had committed were pulled to his attention. Until now he had been able to ignore them, if only until he was sure Jaina was safe. But Jaina's casually spoken reminder had made the guilt flood back, more than even the wounds on her back had.

"_Did_ you search?" Jaina asked, not heeding the roller-coaster his emotions were going through.

"Once. But I couldn't find anything that I didn't already know."

She sighed in relief and bobbed her head into the bed once, causing it to bounce slightly. "I thought maybe I hadn't shielded my message properly."

Wiping her skin with the disinfectant cloth as gently as possible, he asked slowly, "What message?"

Jaina opened her mouth to respond, then snapped it shut before she spoke. Instantly she berated herself for her cowardly behaviour. Why should it be so difficult to tell him? She had said it before—well, ok, so the fact that she had believed he wouldn't be able to pick it up after so long had something to do with her bravery.

_But that shouldn't matter!_ a small voice in her mind argued. _Zekk's never laughed at you before—why should he start now?_

"Jaina?" Zekk inquired after several long moments of silence. When she didn't answer, his breath hitched and he said urgently, "Jaina, don't fall asleep. You'll—"

His hands fell away as Jaina rolled onto her side and looked at him. She silently gathered all of her courage as she prepared to uncover the secret she'd hidden for nearly a decade. She took a deep breath. "Zekk? I love you."

----

The bandages dropped from Zekk's hands and silence reigned. It was loud, if silence could be described as such. Jaina became very aware of the sound of their breathing, of the soft pitter-patter of the rain which had begun to fall, of the sounds of Coruscant traffic.

Finally, Zekk croaked, "What did you say?"

Her heartbeat roared in her ears until Jaina thought she might be deafened. Suddenly wondering if she had read him wrong, she licked her lips and whispered, "I love you."

Zekk's head shook in numb denial. "No. You—you can't."

Jaina swallowed. "Are you so used to putting me in the little sister slot that you can't think of me as anything other than child?"

This time, Zekk did laugh. "I assure you, Jaina, you are not considered a child by me."

"Then stop treating me like one! It's like you see me as some—" her face screwed together a bit as she searched for the word. "Some—_thing_!"

Zekk's jaw tightened. "Would you prefer I treat you according to the way every part of me demands?" he asked. "You don't seem to understand what you're asking for. I do, however, and I am _not_ going to hurt you—again!"

"You're hurting me now!" she retorted angrily, her yell a sharp contrast to the soft intensity of his voice. "Do you even care? I just spilled the contents of my heart, Zekk. Does that mean nothing?"

Zekk's face crumbled. "You _know_ I love you."

Jaina gave a derisive snort. "Why should I believe you?" Her face hardened. "Words are empty when they are not backed by action."

His heart clenched a moment at her instant disbelief. "How can I prove it to you?" he whispered desperately, painfully as he sank to the floor beside the bed.

Jaina just looked at him.

They remained that way for a long time. Their connection went on for lifetimes, and yet for only the barest fraction of a second. When he finally looked away, he heard Jaina sigh. "Maybe you can't."

The hurt in her voice over his lack of action struck him like a kick to the gut but he ignored it—for the moment, anyway. Instead, he focused on healing her physical wounds until all that could be done was wait.

Jaina, who had been subdued and guarded since her answer to his plea, wrapped the blanket all the way around herself and looked up as he sat on the bed, very close to her. "What's the diagnosis, my dear _brother_?" she asked, no small amount of bitterness bleeding through her voice.

Maybe it was the title she gave him. Maybe it was the way she looked then, her hair spilling around her shoulders, a shimmering reddish-brown in the light. Or maybe it was the tightness of her jaw as she defied her pain—physical and most likely emotional as well.

Or maybe it was the way she looked at him; the way her eyes told him she most certainly did _not_ think of him as a brother.

It didn't really matter _why_ his control broke at that moment, not really. All that mattered was that the emotional barriers he had placed between himself and Jaina crumbled and it didn't seem likely that they would repair themselves any time soon.

As he pulled her close and claimed her mouth in a way he never before would have dared, Zekk found a peace—a _right_ness—that he doubted he deserved.

----

Her head was spinning. Pleasantly, as she did not in the least mind being kissed by Zekk—he was, quite certainly, free to do so anytime he wanted—but still spinning. One moment he'd been refusing to so much as touch her unless it was to clean or heal her back—which, in Jaina's mind, didn't really count. And then, out of nowhere, he was pressing her into the bed, kissing her with such passion it sent shivers of pleasure down her spine.

She vaguely recalled someone saying that a first kiss was supposed to be short, sweet and terribly awkward. And perhaps Zekk had meant for it to be soft but it only remained as such for a moment. Now…

She opened her mouth to him, her fingers becoming entwined in his hair as she relaxed to his touch. She opened to him as she'd never opened to anyone in her life. She'd wanted this for so long and now, being swept away in the sensations, she found it hard to think and simply stopped. She simply felt.

Much later, Zekk pulled away, until there were bare centimetres between their lips, their breathing ragged. /I love you/ he said through their bond, sending wave upon wave of love straight to her soul.

Jaina responded in kind, until Zekk thought is heart might burst with joy. He felt her smile in his mind. /I know/

Hesitantly, his hand slid along her neck and across her bare shoulder, stopping only when he realized that other, than the blanket, she was unclothed. He jerked away as if he had been burned, images of what his body begged for intensifying dangerously. "Go get dressed," he ordered, avoiding her eyes.

Jaina, trying to come out of the haze Zekk's kiss had thrown her mind into, managed a blurry, "Huh?"

"Go get dressed." There was an urgency in his voice this time that made her mind clear.

She raised an eyebrow, hiding her confusion behind a dry tone. "Then get outta my room—unless you're waiting for some kind of show," she said, giving him a lopsided amused grin. Her smile changed into a frown as Zekk, for the second time that day, nearly ran from the room.

It was only when he was gone that she realized how little she was actually wearing. Her cheeks flooded with colour. Considering the fog her mind had been in, it was a good thing he'd pulled away when he had.

Not, of course, that Zekk would have gone any farther. The kiss they'd shared was something her dreams had been made of for almost half her life. To think he would go farther…she chuckled. Not even she was foolish enough to dream that that day was coming any time soon. Her blush doubled even as the daring thought crossed her mind. Her trail of thought appalled her, even as she recognized the honesty of her desires in it.

_What would Princess Leia think? _she wondered, one corner of her mouth lifting in a smirk before she remembered her mother's betrayal. She shut it down. She wasn't about to let her mother's abandonment taint her time with Zekk.

She changed quickly, taking care not to further injure her back, then walked into Zekk/Onyx's master room. Zekk was looking out the window, his arms braced against the sides, his head bowed and tension clear throughout his body, as if he was losing an inner battle.

She paused only a moment before moving across the room and slipping her arms around him. Almost instantly the tension she had sensed in him seemed to drain away, as if her touch pushed away whatever demon he had been fighting. "What are you fighting?" she asked, almost to herself, even as she was sure she knew the answer.

Zekk turned in her arms and pulled her closer, his hand resting gently between her shoulder blades. They were quiet for a long moment, their earlier passion giving way to gentleness and comfort in the other's arms. When Zekk finally spoke it was not to answer her question, but to say, with an almost desperate edge, "You know I love you, right?"

Her brandy brown eyes lifted to meet his suddenly stormy green. Sensing the importance of her response to him, she answered as truthfully and reassuringly as she could. "Yes; and you know I love you?"

"You shouldn't."

Jaina shrugged. "Maybe. I haven't listened to logic a lot of my life and I don't really expect to start now."

Zekk chuckled and the sound sent a warm thrill through her veins. "I don't deserve you."

She flashed a Solo grin. "No, but I figure we can work on that later."

His forehead creased. "Later? Why…oh." He grinned as he recognized what she wanted and tipped her head back, slanting his lips across hers. She moaned softly into his mouth and he deepened the kiss.

While their first kiss had been passionate almost desperate in the wake of their discovery this kiss was tender, explorative. Their Force presences merged, solidifying their bond until they were one.

And then it began to change.

----

Zekk's POV

I could feel It—a cold chill running down my spine that penetrated even my kiss with Jaina. It had left for a while…but It was back. It crept up my spine, Dark and menacing. Almost as if she could feel It coming, Jaina's embrace tightened, as if that could keep me with her.

Knowing what I had to do, I pulled away. "You should get some sleep," I told her, my voice more hoarse than I would have liked.

"Zekk—"

Before she could continue, I used my foggy Force skills to send her body a powerful, if awkward, sleep suggestion. Jaina, though a Jedi, couldn't fight against something she wasn't expecting. I caught her just as she began to slump to the floor and carried her to her room and bed. When I was certain she was comfortable I left, locking the door behind me.

By now my breathing was laboured, as if I had fought a war and run several marathons in a short space of time. Slowly, painfully, the chill became a freezing cold that crept up my back and through my shoulder blades, then into my mind. I wanted to scream, but when I opened my mouth nothing came out. Darkness edged my vision. Feeling in my arms, then the rest of my body, began to melt away. My sense of hearing became a distant dream and my own name began to drift away from my memory.

Something—someone?—took control. It fitted Itself into my skin and made it a tool of Darkness. They stole my soul and blackened it with a kind of evil I could barely fathom.

They stole my most precious, passionate emotions and twisted them, then banished those that countered them—tenderness and love to counter lust; patience and mercy to counter hate, anger, impatience.

My soul tried to scream but if a shadow is a lack of substance, how can it make a sound? A shadow cannot hold breath, and thus cannot release it; nor can it possess a voice box, and so is unable to make sound. For what is sound but using such instruments?

Fighting against It was like attempting to move against the strongest current with stones beneath your feet which slide and sink when you push against them. There were no outcroppings in this river—if it could be called as such—for me to grab hold of to anchor myself against the never ending current.

And then I found no more strength in my body and I was pulled under, disappearing through the water, then the loose ground. Falling, until…

I found myself in the abyss once more.

This time, I knew better than to try to scream.

----

**Well, that was a super-long chapter—15 pages! I apologize for any mistakes; it was either put it up now, or dredge it along for another two months. /twitches/ But now the mush is over, and some semblance of skill starts to develop in this story, although it won't be immediately obvious :P. Please R&R!**

**-Tjz**

**P.S. – the irony! I went to update this on Nov. 24th…and found the uploading process closed down until further notice. /eyes cross/. I tried to get it out before the month was over!**


	11. Ch9: Complications

**Jaina-Elessar**: In response to your review on "Die Another Day", I'm afraid I had to shut down _Phoenix_. Like I said in my bio, I want to transfer back to my original writing soon, especially since I'm getting to that point where I have to start thinking about gulp my future career. Phoenix was one of my babies, and extensively planned out, but only a sixth finished. Always, on the other hand, has always been the one that flows the easiest, and the most popular, not to mention almost finished. Sorry :( If you ever want to see what I had planned for the rest, e-mail me, and I'll try to cobble together the basic idea from my notes, and send it to you :)

* * *

**_Previously on "Always I: Dejarik"…_**

Brakiss and a Dark Jedi named Devnos (who's rather important in the sequel, btw) had a chat—about Jaina and Onyx. Brakiss implicated that he wanted his ambitious, would-be future Darkest Knight to do away with Jaina. -Onyx and Jaina got in an argument about a distasteful outfit that Onyx wanted to parade Jaina around in; she refused, and was punished for it.  
-Onyx left Jaina in an unused training room and headed off to a banquet…more than a little unsettled by his guilt for what he did to Jaina. He distracted himself with a dancing slave named Sanar Klis (also very important, and much more immediately so), who bears a striking resemblance to Jaina.  
-Jaina was attacked by a group of men (sent out by Devnos)  
-Onyx felt Jaina's pain through their bond, and raced off to save the day. He came, he saw, he furied, he conquered. But Devnos wasn't at the scene of the crime, and Onyx doesn't know about his involvement, or Brakiss' desire to kill off Jaina.  
-Onyx briefly let "Zekk" loose to heal and help Jaina. He and Jaina had a talk, smoochies followed, but then just when Jaina was starting to relax, Zekk once again disappeared, leaving only Onyx

* * *

**Chapter Nine: Complications**

* * *

"Jaina Solo," Brakiss said, measuring each word, "is not dead, Klis. Why is that?"

Devnos remained casually seated, despite the menace that his emperor presented. "Would you have wanted Onyx to know your plans to undermine him?" he asked, almost absently.

Even with his Palpatine holo-mask off, the emperor's glare was a terrifying sight to behold.

Devnos didn't flinch. "Your Darkest Knight appeared on the scene," he said after a moment, sitting up a little more. "Quite in a rage, I might add: He slaughtered my men."

"And I suppose you were frightened," Brakiss sneered.

"The girl was badly injured, and those men had a fondness for neck wounds. There are no unfortunate consequences that won't become null in due time." His flint-grey eyes met Brakiss' orange ones. "Lord Onyx will be taken care of, I assure you."

Briefly, the emperor scrutinized his left-hand man. "Sanar Klis is your sister, isn't she?" He was gratified to see Devnos freeze. "Such a pretty thing. Imagine, though, if someone mistook her for Jaina Solo…?"

Devnos then did what was either monumentally stupid, or incredibly brave: He curled his lip at, and then turned his back to, his emperor, and stalked out of the room.

* * *

Jaina woke slowly, the foggy remnants of sleep clinging to her, reluctant to let her leave. Instinctively she curled toward something, then stopped when she realized no one was there. Brown eyes blinked open in confusion. Why had she thought someone…? 

It came to her in a sudden burst of clarity—Zekk's confession, the kisses, and then…

She jumped—well, _flopped_ might be a more accurate description—out of the bed, landing awkwardly, only to feel her spine explode in agony. Her knees buckled beneath her as she felt something close to the physical version of the pain she had experienced upon Jacen's death. Somewhere, deep within her muddled brain, she found the strength to keep from screaming but still a whimper managed to escape.

Reaching out with the Force she tried to find Zekk, only to run into a wall of Darkness. As the hopeless misery of her situation sunk in, Jaina remained in a crumpled heap, stunned. Life as Onyx's slave while perfectly healthy was degrading and painful, but almost bearable. Slavery while recovery from a back injury would be…she shuddered at the images and ideas her mind conjured.

When she attempted to stand she found she couldn't. Horror washed over her in tidal waves as she realized she could no longer feel her legs.

Jaina Solo, Jedi Knight and slave to the Darkest Knight of the New Empire, was paralysed.

* * *

Sanar entered the room quietly, the images of Onyx and the other woman still imprinted in her mind. 

"I don't recall saying you could leave," the cold voice of Onyx said. "So perhaps you could explain why you were returning when you never should have left."

Sanar Klis had had plenty of experience dealing with dark men. She straightened defiantly and turned to face him. He was perfect, as always—dark hair sleek and pulled back, emerald eyes igniting fire in her system. His plain, dark clothing was uncreased and close-fitting enough to see that he was well-muscled.

"You were otherwise engaged, my Lord."

Lord Onyx's face remained stony, but she felt a flicker of something—confusion? curiosity?—in his Force presence as he studied her. "And how was I 'otherwise engaged'?"

How stupid did he think she was? And why even make her say it? Larifx, it wasn't as if she expected him to be monogamous to a dancer. "You were…sleeping, my Lord." _With another woman pulled against you as if you never wanted to let her go,_ she added silently.

Onyx frowned slightly as he realized that the slave was hiding something. "I see." He continued to study her for several moments before saying, "I was not myself at the time so I will excuse it, this time. In the future, however you are not permitted to do anything without my consent."

_In the future?_ she wondered. Did that mean she was to stay? And did she want to, now that she had more than a sneaking suspicious that he was not at all the man she had hoped? "Of course, my Lord," she agreed nonetheless, some of her earlier confidence returning as she gave him a slow, seductive smile. "My sole purpose in life is to please you."

An appreciative gleam entered his eyes (_Men_, she thought flatly). "Perhaps," he suggested as he stepped closer to her, "it is time you proved that."

Moving almost at reflex, her fingers slowly undid the top buttons of her blouse and she angled her head back. "As my Lord wishes," she breathed, just before his mouth came crashing down upon hers.

* * *

Trapped and alone in her room, Jaina sunk into self-pity. Her current situation—not to mention the last _five years_—was bad enough. 

But now, not only did she have to deal with Onyx, the death of her brothers, and her enslavement, she had to listen as said-Sith lord—in the body of the man she loved, no less—screwed a female he probably didn't even know. _I am so writing an angry letter to the Force if I ever get out of here_._ "That which doesn't kill you makes you stronger"_ my ass.

"It could be worse, you know," Kyp's voice suddenly said. "You could be in the same room, forced to watch them. Heck, it could be _you_ Onyx is screwing."

"Thanks, Kyp," she said dryly. "That really helped."

He smirked and sat across from her so that she could see him properly. "What are friends for?"

"Well, I _thought_ they were to lift your spirits and comfort you, but you've changed my mind. Clearly, they are meant to lecture you and make you feel worse."

His eyebrows rose. "Lecture you?" he repeated innocently. "I've never lectured you! Shake my head in disappointment—definitely; insult you—often. Yell at you for being stupid—sure—but _lecture_ you?"

"Then I guess you're not a very good friend."

"Well," he considered, "when you put it that way…"

And so he lectured her.

* * *

(Jaina's POV) 

"What were you _thinking_—telling Onyx you love him? Are you insane?" Kyp hissed. "You practically shoved the information in his face! No wonder you're paralysed!"

My temper sparked. "I told _Zekk_, not Onyx—but that has nothing to do with my paralysis! Sithspit, Durron! It's not like my life can get that much worse. Why—"

"You think it can't get worse?" he demanded, aghast. "Newsflash, Jay: It _can_. Onyx _knows_. He knows you love Zekk and would die before hurting him. Onyx and Zekk are two halves of one person no matter how hard you argue against the idea. You can't kill one without killing the other. Onyx will use that against you!"

I was quiet for a long moment, contemplating what he said. Was Kyp right? Had I been wrong to tell Zekk? But it had seemed so… _right_. The moment the words passed my lips, my heart felt lighter. The second I felt his arms around me I knew I was meant to be there. When his lips pressed against mine… "Are you sure Onyx knows?"

"If he doesn't, it's a miracle," Kyp stated flatly. "Zekk knows what Onyx knows, and vice versa."

"But that's not true," I protested. "For a long time Zekk didn't know what was going on, so what if—"

"Zekk didn't know what was happening because he was weak—"

"He is _not_ weak!"

"—but Onyx is strong enough to be conscious of what is going on," he continued, not heeding her interruption. "Zekk's not strong enough to keep Onyx out. The only way Zekk's coming back is if you're dead!"

His words hung in the air between us and I knew by the expression on Kyp's face that he had never meant to reveal that. My heart chilled and my breath caught. It took me several long moments to recover and when I did, I pulled out my fireworks.

"How do you know? You're not the Force! You're not even the Force's confidant! You have no idea how strong Zekk is—I do! He's brave, tender, strong, and more powerful than you know!"

Outside there was a sudden hush and I froze, my blood going from chilled to frozen in moments. Onyx and his slave had been too busy and loud to hear my conversation with Kyp… hadn't they?

My answer came quickly, in the form of Onyx blowing the door in with the Force, not bothering with the lock or handle.

Acting upon impulse, my eyes skittered away from him. Considering the circumstances, I doubted he would be…well, in formal attire. Or, for that matter, dressed at all. "Ever heard of knocking, Onyx?" I growled.

He didn't grace my pointed question with a reply. Instead, he stalked across the room and ripped at a chunk of my hair until I was looking up at him. My eyes skimmed over his physique before I could stop them.

_Well, at least he decided to wear pants upon barging in,_ I thought wryly. Not, of course, that his bare, muscled chest wasn't more than enough to distract me… _Stangitall__, why does he have to be so Sithspawn gorgeous?_

"Get up." He accented the command by tugging my hair upward.

Cursing my immobile legs, I remained as I was.

This time, he yanked my hair so hard I whimpered. "Get up, Jedi Solo, before I release my wrath." He yanked again. Stars blinked into existence in my vision and a cry of pain was ripped from my throat.

Perhaps he realized that there was something wrong, because I felt him Force-scan my body.

When he hissed—in pleasure, surprise or horror, I didn't know— I swallowed hard.

So Onyx knew. My mind offered up hundreds of terrible possibilities but only there was only one thought that made me want to die:

I was helpless.

* * *

(Sanar's POV) 

I moaned in soft protest when Onyx ripped himself away from me the second time in less than twenty-four hours. It seemed he was making a habit of it and the thought was frustrating and confusing. Had I lied to myself beyond reasonable measure when I thought Onyx was the one I always waited for (_wait for me, beloved_)?

But I had been so _sure_ that I saw something in the way he looked at me. Not to mention that the physical similarities to My One were uncanny. He _had_ to be…

In another room I heard yelling, arguing, and a confusion that mirrored my own feelings. I blinked as Onyx threw open the door to the side room and stormed in. After several moments – during which I heard more arguing and shouting – I followed him, pushing aside the memories I had of this room.

The scene before me caused my mind to reel in shock.

A woman was sprawled on the floor before Onyx, her jaw clenched, defiant to the pain that was radiating from her through the Force. Onyx had his hand entwined in her hair, staring down at her, an odd expression that looked like a mixture of anger, pain, surprise and…something else on his perfect face. If I found that image strange, the next thing my eyes found was from another galaxy.

There, not far from the woman, was a man, surrounded by an ethereal blue glow. It took a moment for the fact that he was a real ghost to sink in. I had heard stories, of course—who hadn't?—but to find them true…

He had been handsome in life and remained so in death—or whatever you called his current state of being. His face was rugged and worn, telling of a hard life with little real joy. His dark hair—at least, I _thought_ it was dark—was pulled back but several rebellious pieces had escaped the elastic and now hung in his face. He was tall and well-muscled, a fact that was obvious through even his…

I nearly jumped when I realized he wore the robes of a Jedi. A bitter taste entered my mouth at the very idea that I had been _admiring_ a Jedi. The Jedi had destroyed so much…and now they were invincible?

As if he heard my thoughts, the Jedi's gaze turned to me, a surprised air about him. "You can see me," he said, as if it was one of the bigger shocks of his life.

I glared at him. "Of course I can see you, dog! What do you think I am – blind?"

His mouth opened to reply, but it snapped shut when Onyx spoke.

"Paralysed, Jedi Solo?" There was an odd mixture of horror, surprise and amusement in his voice.

At first I thought maybe he was talking to the ghost, but instead the woman answered in an icy voice. "It would seem so, Onyx. I wonder, was my paralysis caused by you or those trainees of yours that attacked me after you finished beating me bloody."

Onyx's Force presence darkened in anger. "You were punished for your disobedience, Jedi Solo, and your punishment was mild indeed. Be thankful I left you with your life." Almost as an afterthought, he added, "You are never to address me in such a manner again."

Solo's Force presence sneered. "Why not, Onyx?"

Onyx's hand, still caught in her hair, jerked up, pulling viciously at her scalp. To her credit, Solo did not make even the slightest sound of pain. The ghost, however, looked ready to rip Onyx to shreds.

"I would watch my words, if I were you, Jedi," Onyx hissed. "I am your only friend in this palace."

Solo glared up at him. "Funny, in my experience friends protect each other from harm instead of inflicting it."

His fingers released her hair suddenly and Solo slumped to the floor again. Only then was my presence noticed and Onyx spun on me. "What!"

I swallowed but refused to be cowed. "What is going on, my Lord?"

Onyx's eyes flitted to the woman for a moment before returning to me. "This does not concern you. Leave us – now!" he snapped.

"You always did have such a way with people, Onyx," Solo said suddenly, her tone sickly sweet. "Now, maybe if you throw around some Dark electricity, she'll be forever your slave. Or, rather," she corrected disdainfully, looking me over, "even _more_ of your slave."

Onyx turned from me and sneered at her. "As are you, Solo."

Solo scowled. "Only in the physical sense, Onyx. You do not own my mind, spirit or soul as you do _her_." She tipped her head in my direction. "And soon I will not be your slave at all."

"A poetic speech," Onyx mocked. "But who ever said I wanted your mind, spirit or soul?"

"Actions speak louder than words. No one had to; it's made clear by the fact that you keep my look-alike around."

Onyx Force-pushed Solo but it was too late. Startled by her words, I studied Solo more closely. At first, I could see no physical differences between her and myself and I began to panic. Surely Onyx wouldn't… Solo had to be wrong. It was…impossible…

The ghost, perhaps sensing my distress, took several steps in my direction. "There _are_ several differences," he assured me. "You'll pick them up over time."

My jaw tensed and my eyes narrowed, not only at the Jedi ghost's gall to say such a thing, but at the implication that I would be spending more time around Solo.

Ironically, the words of a holo-vid came to my mind:

_There ain't room enough for the both of us…_

* * *

(Jaina's POV) 

I watched the slave, watched her take it all in; the way her expression hardened and the way she glared at me. And I watched as she regained some of her confidence and slinked over to Onyx. My blood boiled as she pressed herself against him, but I kept my face expressionless. Why should it matter to me if some—willing—slave thought she owned Onyx? I knew the truth—Onyx belonged only to the Darkness within himself.

If the girl wanted to claim _Zekk_, however... My hand drifted toward my hip before I remembered that Onyx still kept my lightsaber. Feeling the loss acutely - the memory was a painful reminder of my vulnerability - I instead clenched my hand into a fist. As surely as I belonged to Zekk, he belonged to me. I'd like to see the slave girl just _try_ to come between us.

"Come with me, my Lord," the slave whispered and I felt the undeniable urge to gag rise up within me. In that moment I didn't know whether to pity the girl, or beat her senseless.

Perhaps some of my anger and disdain seeped through my shields because Onyx's eyes never left mine as he nodded. "We shall speak of your..." I thought I saw a glint in his eyes as they raked over me, "...disability soon, Solo. Right now I find myself - distracted."

The slave smirked at me as if to gloat about how Onyx had chosen her over me. Even as I opened my mouth to warn her, Onyx's fingers pressed expertly against the pressure points on her neck and she slumped over. Onyx stared down at the slave's unconscious form for a moment before stepping over it carelessly so that there was less room between us. "Would you like to walk again?" he asked.

Uncertain of where this conversation was going to go, I did not reply at once, but looked for Kyp, only to find him gone. I frowned and turned back to find Onyx crouched on the floor in front of me. I pulled away but my legs weighed more than a bantha at the moment and I didn't get far.

"I asked you a _question_, Solo, one I command an answer to." He moved closer again and I shifted uncomfortably. He was too close.

_"Onyx _knows_, Jay,"_Kyp's voice echoed in my head ominously.

"Do you or do you not want to walk again?" he demanded.

I debated mentally for only a moment this time. "_Obviously_."

A small smile crept across his face and I shivered. There was something wrong with that smile... "Good," he purred, reaching out to stroke my cheek. His eyes darkened as I flinched and pulled away. Grabbing my chin forcefully, he glared into my eyes. "You want to walk again, Solo? I could take a very long time persuading the medics to care for Rebel scum."

I pulled out of his grasp and moved back until I was up against the wall, my anger burning like an open flame. _I am not scum. I am not._

He chuckled and slid his fingers down my jaw and neck, and began to push the fabric of my shirt to the side, baring my shoulder. "No..." he murmured. "Not scum, Solo. But that is how all others see you. I am the only one who knows otherwise." As if to accentuate his point, he moved forward and nipped delicately at the skin of my neck.

Shaking with barely controlled fury now, I jerked away. Laughing out loud, he moved closer until the only things separating us were a few layers of clothing. "Do you not enjoy being touched?" he asked, his hands beginning to run down my arms and back up again. When I tried to push him back he used the Force to keep me firmly pinned to the wall.

"You want your legs to work again and I want you," he continued.

"I swear, Onyx, if you don't back off _right now_, you will not live to regret this." My voice was tight, not only with anger but - though I would deny it to my last breath - fear. I didn't know if I could back up my threat, but what were my other options? Certainly Onyx's "offer" was out of the question. But what...

_Damn you Onyx for making me feel helpless!_ Growing more furious each second by Onyx and my fear - _I'm a Solo! The word "fear" isn't in my vocabulary!_ - my breath came faster and my eyes met Onyx's in an enraged glare. _I am a Solo. I am NEVER helpless!_

Onyx, feeling my anger, raised an eyebrow and slid his hands down my side, his touch growing more and more intimate, more possessive, until I thought I would scream. "Don't touch me," I managed, grinding my teeth.

He should have stopped then, should have seen the warning flash in my eyes. He should have seen that I wasn't joking, should have seen the unadulterated rage that lurked within me.

But he didn't. Instead, he placed a hard kiss at the base of my neck.

My fury reached its peak.

"I said – back – _off_!" My hands pushed against his chest, backed by the Force. Onyx's body was hurdled across the room looking surprised but it wasn't enough to sate my fury. He had _touched_ me, made me feel helpless and dirty, and ignored me when I ordered him to stop. He had taken so much from me already – my brothers, my life and my freedom – and then he tried to take my remaining innocence and pride.

Lessons, warnings, caution – all forgotten as Darkness brewed in my fingers and arced into him. Power that had lain dormant in my soul for too long swelled and was released. Onyx became everything I hated, all that had hurt me. He became Tamith Kai, Brakiss, Thrawn, the Empire, Hethrir, the abandonment of my mother, my aching, severed twin bond…

Oh sweet Force, Jacen!

The Darkness retreated and I clutched my hands close to my heart, my eyes wide as what I had done sank in. The memory of my promise to Jacen tore at my soul.

_"Promise me something, Jaina."_

___"Anything." _

_____"Don't ever touch the Darkness again. You're more powerful than you realize; and I don't want to survive the loss of my twin on top of Anakin's death."_

_______"I…I'll try. I mean, I don't plan to."  
_

_______"_Promise me_. Promise on Anakin's grave; on my life."_

_________"I…promise."_

Across the room, Onyx was panting hard, his pain flooding my senses as I burrowed my face in my hands. _I didn't mean to! I never…it was just one push too many; I never would have touched the Darkness otherwise!_

My self-defence was too weak even for me to believe and I hated myself for it. _Note to self: I'm not destined to go into law._

A rumbling cackle, filled with malicious glee, alerted me of someone's – other than Onyx's and my own – presence in the room. Sometime when I hadn't been paying attention, someone must have come in and watched my Dark relapse. It took me a moment to recognize who it was:

Brakiss.

I raised my head slowly and was awarded by the "Emperor's" triumphant leer. "Well, young Solo." Brakiss shook his head in amazement. "You seem to have an affinity to the Dark side. I suppose we can be certain of who your _real_ 'master' was now."

_Does he mean Uncle Luke, Aunt Mara or Kyp?_ I wondered.

"I meant 'Master' Durron, of course. Only he could teach you so well in the Dark arts," Brakiss said smoothly, correctly reading my mind. "He seems to have a way of moulding apprentices to be much like him."

I felt cold to the centre of my being. _Miko was not Kyp's fault_, I wanted to scream but I was quiet. Considering Brakiss' occupation of choice – a Napoleon Sith Lord – he probably meant it as a compliment.

The thought was only slightly soothing.

Brakiss watched me steadily for a moment, that stupid, smug smirk of his playing over his features. It was then that I realized he was not wearing that grotesque holo-mask of his; not that there was an astonishing difference after so many years. Brakiss' face was beginning to show how using the Dark side constantly wore upon a being's body as well as their soul. It was disconcerting to try to match this figure with the youthful, handsome Imperial spy that had infiltrated the Jedi Academy years ago. While still far from the shrivelled figure of Palpatine, I didn't see modeling in his non-ruler-of-the-galaxy future. At least, not for anything other than "before" holos for plastic surgery and wrinkle cream. What the advertising company would do for the "after" holos, I hadn't a clue.

"Why is it," Brakiss said, turning away from me, "that you did not tell me of Miss Solo's turning, Lord Onyx?"

The Darkest Knight drew himself up, his chest muscles spasming erratically. I grimaced and looked away. _I_ had done that. Me. Onyx's – and Zekk's – nerves were jumping all over the place because of _me_. It made me sick to my stomach.

"She only recently showed signs of turning," Onyx stated stiffly, the coldness in his voice enough to make me look up in surprise. From the way Onyx spoke of Brakiss I had assumed that he was Onyx's father figure. Why else would Onyx – or Zekk, however you wanted to think of it – commit himself wholly to Darkness? Clearly, psychology was out of my future as well.

"She surprised you," Brakiss accused, sounding positively gleeful. Abruptly, he became conciliatory. "I told you would this would happen, Onyx. She is too much for you to handle." The smirk he gave Onyx was triumphant. I could almost hear his '_na-na-na-na-na-na_'. "Take her to Lab C348 to be fitted with a Force-suppressing collar at 0900 tomorrow."

He turned to me. "I'll be keeping a close eye on you. One wrong move and you'll find yourself part of my…" he grinned nastily and let his eyes sweep over me and I swore inwardly. What was it that made me so maddeningly irresistible to Imperials? "…court," he finished.

Rage and hatred rose and it took me a moment to realize that it was not my own, but Onyx's. "She is _mine_, Lord Emperor."

I breathed an inward sigh of relief. Who would have thought I'd ever be grateful for Onyx's possessiveness of me? But he wasn't going to hand me over to Brakiss easily, a factor that was saving me at the moment.

Brakiss glowered and I wondered if he would explode. I pursed my lips. It would be so hard to get goop a la Brakiss out of the carpet. Not to mention the chunks of him that would probably get on my bed and the other furniture. I mean, _eww_.

"We will see." Brakiss gave Onyx a last haughty glance before turning on his heel and leaving the room.

Onyx raised an eyebrow in my direction as if he expected me to thank him but my head dropped into my hands and I ignored him. A moment later, he left, leaving the slave behind, still crumpled on the floor. I was safe – from Brakiss and Onyx – for now, but the recent events gave me the clarity of mind to know something:

_I'm running out of time._

(End of Jaina's POV)

* * *

Onyx left the room, his temper sparking ominously. _How **dare** Brakiss attempt to interfere! As if I would ever willingly turn Jaina over to **him**!_

And so, in his silent ranting, he did not notice the blackness that was beginning to creep into his vision.

Sanar woke quickly but quietly, a habit she had formed in the past few years. The floor she was lying on was carpeted, but not the soft, thick carpet she was used to since coming to the Imperial Palace. Instead, it was pushed down, as if it had been used for several years now and was not cleaned as often as the other carpets.

Realizing how inane it was for her to be comparing carpets, she rolled over, stretching out with the Force. Onyx was in the other room, that much she noticed immediately, but there was someone else nearby.

"You're awake," someone said suddenly. "I was beginning to wonder if Onyx had lost some of his finesse and pushed too hard."

Sanar recognized only then that the person speaking was "Jedi Solo." She sat up, hiding her disorientation from the other woman as best she could. "_Lord_ Onyx," she corrected.

Solo rolled her eyes and began to drag her lower body toward Sanar. "You can call him that if you want, but I see no reason to put a title of respect in front of his name."

Sanar's eyes blazed. "You don't deserve to have him," she growled, forgetting for the moment that he wasn't the one she had thought him to be.

Solo stopped a foot away from Sanar and raised an eyebrow. "Who said I have him?"

Sanar snorted. "What do you think I am, an idiot?'

"You're the willing slave of a Sith Lord," Solo replied with a smirk. "What do you think my answer's going to be?"

Sanar buried the sting of the Jedi's words deep down, just as she buried all the many insults that had been thrown at her before.

"You prance – " Solo looked pointedly at her useless legs " – around as if you own the Imperial Palace and everything and everyone in it. Don't tell me you don't believe you have Lord Onyx," Sanar finished.

Solo laughed but her eyes were hard. "How can you survive being the pleasure slave of Onyx and still be so naïve? Nothing is that simple." She paused, then twisted toward the door. "Onyx!"

The Darkest Knight actually came upon Solo's call – something that surprised Sanar beyond further thought. _What the hell is going on with these two?_

"Onyx," Solo started lazily, "it seems that – " she glanced at Sanar. "What did you say your name was again?"

Sanar hadn't said her name, and felt like hitting Solo for asking something like that, but told the other woman anyway.

"Sanar," Solo murmured, before turning back to Lord Onyx. "It seems Sanar thinks I have a claim on you," the Jedi remarked.

Sanar's eyes closed for a moment in humiliation. _Thank you so much, Solo, for flaunting my weaknesses_.

Lord Onyx remained mostly impassive but there was a flicker of amusement and an unidentified emotion in his eyes. "Are you looking for my response to that, Jedi Solo?" he asked, as if daring her to speak the affirmative.

Solo waved his words away. "Please—as if what you think matters to me. However, I thought you should know." She turned to Sanar. "Look, whatever my so-called 'claim' on _him_ is, you are totally free to take. I couldn't care less."

Lord Onyx scowled at Solo. "I believe I get a say in this."

Solo shrugged. "Well, even _you_ are prone to a delusion every once and a while. Now get lost." Her eyes narrowed as she regarded Sanar. "Your little slave and I have some things to discuss."

Solo received a Force-shove for her audacity but after a moment Onyx left, Solo laughing after him.

Solo's show of mirth stopped abruptly as she closed the door with the Force after Onyx, and then turned to Sanar. For several moments the two simply looked at the other, weighing vulnerabilities, strengths, pros and cons.

Not looking away from Sanar's eyes, Solo spoke. "I can feel your questions, Sanar. You've made no effort to hide them. What do you want to know?"

Sanar didn't so much as blink, though inwardly she was scowling. "Why don't you read my mind and tell me?"

"I'd rather hear them from you."

Both women kept their voices pleasant, but the flint edge to their voices betrayed their true feelings. To be enemies would be to admit that the other was worthy of anger, and neither Sanar nor Jaina were willing to do so. Still, they were not foolish enough to bring out the "big guns," so to speak, yet. Both knew that they wouldn't come out of an open season of slander and fights unscathed.

_But it'll come_, Sanar relished. It was inevitable. Once they discovered the other's vulnerable spots, and when their own weak points were protected, not even their pride would hold them back.

"I saw the man – that ghost," Sanar said, watching the other's expression carefully.

Solo must have noticed Sanar's scrutiny because the walls around her mind tightened impossibly, and her expression was blank. "I see. And your question about him is…?"

Sanar almost blinked but that would have given more information to Solo than she wanted her to have, and so she reigned back to the urge. She hadn't quite thought of what she wanted to know; all she knew was that Solo hadn't thought the man visible. "Who is he?" she finally blurted out.

"'Who is he'," Solo repeated, seeming to consider the question for several moments. She began to say something, and then shook her head as if rejecting the response even before it passed her lips. At last she answered. "A friend. Before he – died – he was a Jedi Master. No doubt you've heard of him – does the name 'Kyp Durron' ring any bells?"

Sanar decided she couldn't have been more shocked if she had just been told her mother had taken over Mujir's Resistance. "_That_ was Kyp Durron." It wasn't a question but Solo answered her anyway.

"Yes. Not what you expected?"

"No," Sanar replied bitterly, her eyes almost black with hate. "I expected the bastard's murdering tendencies to show a little more. After what he did to Carida – "

Solo's eyes blazed but her voice stayed the same steady, almost pleasant alto as before. "My _dear_ Sanar, Palpatine destroyed Alderaan – a well-populated, peaceful planet – and yet you're fine with it. Kyp, under the influence of a Sith Lord, destroyed the sparsely populated military training planet of those who killed his family and enslaved him. How can you not see the difference?"

Unable to think of an objective response, Sanar ignored Solo's challenge. Instead, she leaned toward the other woman. "Stay out of my way, Solo, or Onyx will know not only about your treason against the Emperor – "

Solo laughed condescendingly. "Some blackmail! Trust me, Onyx would have to be blind, deaf and in his death throws to miss my 'treason'! I've made no effort to hide it."

" – and your precious Kyp."

Murder flamed in the Jedi's eyes. "You're playing with fire, Sanar." Solo's eyes locked on Sanar's until the older woman looked away, ending the unofficial stare-down they had been having. Sanar felt Solo's surge of victory.

"I win," Solo mocked, her smile etched in granite. In that moment, Sanar saw what Solo had not wanted her to see: how much it had cost Solo to survive the past five years.

And how much she had lost.

Upon deciding that Jaina and the slave – what had she said her name was? Sarai? Did it matter? – had had enough time, Onyx re-entered Jaina's room. He was immediately aware of tension between the two women and inwardly smiled. It took only a moment to see who had been the victor of this match. Jaina's smile was smug, but there was almost a…coldness…in her eyes that made him wonder exactly which words had been traded between the two girls.

When Jaina saw him her chin raised, as bold as ever. Victory sparked in her eyes and he found himself unsurprised. Of _course_ Jaina had won – the slave was merely a shadow of her, a weak imitation. "Did you two enjoy yourselves?"

"Not as much as you are," Jaina retorted, the knowledge of what he was doing in her eyes. He suppressed a grin. Yet another reason why the original was better than the copies he had made his slaves: Jaina knew him.

"Sarai, go make dinner," he ordered.

Jaina's lips thinned in anger and she mouthed something. When he only looked at her she – reluctantly – spoke through their bond. /_It's Sanar, you moron. After everything you've done to her – and are_ planning _to do to her – you could at least get her name right._/

/_Why do you care? She is beneath you._/ He received a strong visual of Jaina smashing his face in for his ignorant prejudice, but no other reply. He looked to Sanar. Her shielding was up, a false emotion in her eyes.

"My name is Sanar." The words were spoken softly, a hint of steel tainting her otherwise calm, husky voice.

Onyx shrugged carelessly. "Fine. Whatever. Go make dinner."

This time he saw Jaina use his head as a battering ram to escape. He struggled to conceal his amusement.

Sanar left quietly enough but he thought he felt her send a mental glare in Jaina's direction.

When the door swished closed Jaina glared up at him from the floor in front of the hoverbed. "If I weren't paralysed, Onyx, I would kick you where you do not want to be kicked."

He eyed her curiously, a smirk creeping up his face. "She is your _enemy_, is she not? It should not matter to you what I call or do to my property."

"Stangit Onyx, she is not your property! She's a human being – one that admires – " Was it just him or had she paused before choosing the word "admire"? " – you and you treat her like dirt! Do you even realize how disgustingly inhumane you are?"

There was a fire in her liquid brown eyes that he decided he liked. So intent on lecturing him was she that she missed the way his eyes skimmed over her. He decided that that was best for now.

"Doesn't the fact that you're heartless bother you? Force knows why Sanar even cares – it's not like you have any good qualities."

"Your fault – not mine."

Her eyes narrowed into slits. "What is _that_ supposed to mean?"

He shrugged and spread out his arms in an innocent gesture. "You created me, sweetheart – everything I am, everything I have, I owe to you."

It was immediately obvious that he had struck a nerve. "Thank you so much," she said sarcastically, her shielding up so high it was painful to access the Force. "I really needed a reason to hate myself more."

He ignored her – mostly – and pushed aside the twinge he felt upon hearing her say that. "Be proud Solo: You produced the most powerful Sith in the galaxy."

To her credit, in her eyes there was only a hint of the torment this topic seemed to be causing her to feel. "I had nothing to do with Brakiss so I have no reason to be 'proud'."

His anger swelled. Perhaps Solo knew him _too_ well – indeed she knew exactly which buttons to press. _Which makes her more dangerous than anyone in the galaxy_, he realized. Vaguely, he wondered why he was still alive. _She is a Jedi – weak, kind-hearted_. He shook his head. Jaina Solo's weakness – if she had one, but it was possible that she was planning his death even now – did not stem from the fact that she was a Jedi. _But what is the root of this weakness?_ he wondered.

He pushed the trail of thought to the side for the moment, and brought his mind back to her impertinence. He had to ignore her provoking words for now – it was too soon to reveal his plans…especially to the one person who could bring about his downfall. Not that she would tell Brakiss – but it was just possible that she would use it against him.

_She's just a girl - stop being so kriffing paranoid!_ he growled to himself.

"We never finished our negotiations," he said finally, leaving the old topic behind and sitting down thoughtfully on the hovercouch. "What do you consider worthy of medical care for your legs?" he asked. It was a trick question and no doubt she knew it – he already knew what it would be worth.

Her expression was carefully controlled, as was her evasive response. "I'm afraid I can't always understand the Dark twists of your mind; perhaps you should shoot some ideas my way."

He quickly picked a random idea, the first that stuck out in his mind. "Join me – become a Lady of the Sith."

She snorted. "I'm more than a match for you even now, Onyx – " Was that a warning? " – and you want me to have reckless, selfish power? It is to your…benefit that I remain in the Light. If I turned, you wouldn't have to worry about Brakiss – but only because you would be quite within your rights to worry about a rebellion against you, and for your life. If you could kill me, you would have already done so."

He raised an eyebrow at the latter statement, but quickly realized that she was not speaking about his ability to eliminate her, but of his willingness to do so. He shrugged it off uneasily. Her response had not been unexpected – the suggestion had been merely another move on the dejarik board.

He pretended to think some more. "Information, then? Intelligence or military plans? Hints about the whereabouts of the Jedi?"

She snorted. "I wouldn't tell you even if I _did_ know. Don't pretend you think I ever would."

Another expected answer; he was beginning to tire of this. He wanted his victory. Perhaps it was time for the ultimatum. His eyes locked on her. "Then here's the deal: Only if you join the Empire will you get the medical care you want."

Her shocked silence was the sweet music of victory to his ears.

* * *

A metal pot slammed onto the stove, spilling milk. The burner hissed and steamed as the milk touched it, but Sanar ignored it as she put the pot down. _How can he just…the Sithspawn little…_ She reached for a metal mixing spoon, but her fingers were clumsy and it made a loud _clang_ when it hit the floor. 

"Y'know," a voice said out of the blue. "I've heard that the Sith have sensitive, vulnerable ears, but I don't think you can kill Onyx just by banging pots and spoons around."

Sanar spun, more than willing to take her anger out on the person that dared taunt her. When her gaze found the insolent being however, it was the last person she expected and thoughts of murder flew out the first window, and then back through another. She stared, dumbstruck, for several moments before she managed to croak, "_You_."

Kyp Durron offered a jaunty smirk. "Me."

"What – what are you doing here?" Her voice was far too weak to be her own, but considering who she was talking to, it wasn't really unexpected.

"I take it you weren't expecting me?"

Sanar's temper flared. _Easy Sanar…no need to fry him with Dark lightning – yet._ Oh, but it was tempting to finish him off, right there… "What do you want?" she demanded, gripping the mixing spoon tightly in her hands, wishing it was Kyp's neck.

"I thought we could speak of nice, light subjects such as your hatred of Jaina." When she continued to stare at him he added, "I believe you've taken to calling her 'Solo'."

"And _why_ would I want to discuss the pitiful, annoying presence of _her_ with the Destroyer of Carida?"

The blue Jedi Master smiled grimly but his eyes were guarded to hide something – what? Pain? In that kriffing, heartless _Jedi_? How dare he even _pretend_ he felt the same emotions as any decent being in this galaxy!

"That was a long time ago, Sanar, and no one hates me more for what I have done than myself." He said her name softly, as if it were an endearment rather than just a name she had been labelled with.

_Care to take a wager on that, Durron?_ she thought dangerously.

She snorted derisively and poured the noodles into the warm milk on the stove, setting the timer as she did. "You killed thousands – probably more – of your enemies, and you _hate yourself for it_?" If he had known her he would have recognized the soft menace in the words, and would have veered away from this "sensitive subject."

"I was possessed by a Dark Lord of the Sith – "

"Oh, of course, it's not _your_ fault you destroyed Carida – and even if it was, the Empire is just as bad because the Emperor is a Sith! I'm so sorry, for some reason I thought you might be man enough to face up to the consequences and realities of your actions!"

"Sanar – "

She interrupted him, not letting herself hear him say her name again, the way he had said it before. "No, it's not _your_ fault people died!" She got Dark pleasure in seeing him try to speak only to be cut off. "Did it ever occur to you that those you destroyed with the Sun Crusher might not even _support_ the Empire? Did you ever think of their families? What of their children? Did you wonder how their wives might deal with the grief?"

To her horror, she found that tears were beginning to build behind her eyes. _I won't cry! I won't – not in front of him! He won't get that satisfaction from **me**! _"Did you ever think about how the family as a whole might be treated? _Did you_?"

If Sanar had cared, she might have noticed that Kyp looked like he might be sick – if it was possible for a ghost to upchuck, that is. "All life is precious, Sanar," he whispered, "no matter what they have done."

For a moment she wondered if he had added a layer of personal meaning in the way he said it, but she pushed the thought away. He couldn't know about Horaire, or any of them. Her cheeks burned in humiliation and shame just at the thought.

"Are you trying to say they _deserved_ to die because they were trained to kill?" she whispered instead, her hatred palpable. "Are you making yourself into a tragic hero now? The reluctant eliminator of all lesser beings? What of those that were _forced_ – " Her voice broke there but she pushed on " – into service?"

Kyp took a steadying breath before speaking. While the action was hardly necessary – his lungs had, after all, long since disappeared - it calmed him. "Are you so loathe to admit Jaina is worthy of your hate that you must pursue this conversation?"

The stove timer went off in the silence that followed the dead Jedi's question, but Sanar did not move. When she spoke at last, she had to work to keep her voice stable. Her words and attached conviction, however, were doubtless. "I hate you."

Kyp's face looked haggard and she thought she saw him flinch. "You're not the first to say that. I doubt you'll be the last."

_But I'll always be the one who means it the most_.

As if his voice released her from the spell of memory that froze her limbs, Sanar turned back to the stove. Through the tears beginning to pool in her eyes, she could see that the milk had begun to burn. She sighed and prepared to start over again.

And again, and again, and again….

* * *

**Another long chapter! And more along the way. Consider it an apology for my inexcusable hiatus?  
**

**Please RR   
**

**-Tjz **


	12. Ch10: Traitor

**Terin**: Thank you. /blushes/ I hope you stick around, and enjoy the rest of the story :)

**Jaina-Elessar**: I sent the first part of the planning for Phoenix…there's still some more; it takes a bit to organize everything :P I'm glad you enjoy Sanar/Jaina—they're my favourite in this fic, and second only to Sanar/Devnos overall…not to mention, Jaina/Sanarextremely important to the overall trilogy, so…yeah, it's a really good thing you like them /laughs/ Onyx doesn't know about the depth of Jaina's feelings for Zekk…he thinks she wants him back as her friend, but Zekk's insecurities got carried over, so he isn't even sure of _that_, yet. But he does figure a few things out in this chapter… Thanks. :D

* * *

I apologize ahead of time for any formatting errors...I tried, but QuickEdit hates my guts, and my posts, tooespecially the italics.

* * *

**  
Chapter Ten: Traitor**

(Jaina's POV)

The silence was tense, making my skin crawl and tighten as sweat crawled down my spine. My jaw hung agape; "totally blindsided" didn't begin to describe me at that moment. He couldn't actually be so dense as to think I'd even go for something like that, could he? "What!" My exclamation broke the tense silence that had sprung up between us

"Join the Empire and you will get the medical care you want," Onyx repeated, his smug smirk growing.

"Like Sith I will!"

"Your turning would be a bonus," he admitted, "but we will discuss that later. All I want now is a 'yes' or 'no'."

I spat at the ground between us and wished it could have been his face. "Get lost in the under levels of Coruscant."

"Perhaps I'll consider it when you give me your answer."

When I continued to glare at him, he stepped closer to me. "I'm offering you the chance to stop running, Jaina," he said softly and I stiffened reflexively. His tone was wrong…it was not Onyx's normal voice. "If you join the Empire, there will be no need for you to worry about being caught and tortured for information. You would receive the best of medical care, a home where you wish – "

"Until you tire of me and decide to force my hand," I added harshly.

He ignored me. "Why, with your piloting and leadership skills, you could be a colonel in the Imperial military if you wished! You don't have to be pulled down by your Jedi 'friends'."

My eyes narrowed at his dismissal of my loved ones. "My friends—"

"If your friends were going to rescue you from my wicked, dastardly clutches, then they would have done so by now." His sarcasm was not appreciated.

I winced in almost physical pain. The remark cut, probably more than Onyx had meant for it to when he spoke. I had accepted that it would be ludicrous for anyone to attempt to rescue me but couldn't they have at least _tried_ – the way I would have, had our positions been reversed? "I will not serve a Sith," I snapped.

"If you join the Empire—"

"You're starting to sound like a recruiting poster, Onyx," I sneered, leaning back against the bed. "You'll have to do better than this if you want me to join your side."

"You swear loyalty and obedience to the Empire and its laws," Onyx continued in the same, soft voice. "_Not_ Emperor Brakiss."

"Ah, but see, he makes and changes the laws when he wishes. I would _still_ have to serve him, and I refuse to!"

He considered me for a moment before speaking again, stepping closer and crouching in front of me. "You are an enemy slave now, Jaina, and would continue to be so when you joined the Empire. The difference is that an _Imperial_ slave has some rights. You belong to me—"

He stroked my cheek tenderly and I tensed in preparation for a fight but he went no further, confusing me. Was he really trying to _persuade_ me? With no threats, no bullying? Was it really Onyx?

"Lord Brakiss has no control over you; that right is reversed for me alone." His gaze locked with mine, unspoken truth lurking within his eyes. /_Do you understand what I am saying, Jaina? I can protect you – Brakiss gave me your life, and I can return it to you if you will only let me_./

I swallowed. Stang him for pretending to care! _He's Onyx_, I reminded myself fiercely. _Not Zekk. Onyx thinks you're dangerous—he's trying to neutralize you. He's trying to break down your defences._

It was working.

The realization was a blow and I had to fight to keep out of panic mode. _It's just a game of dejarik. What's my next move! I can't be out of strategies! I will not lose!_ Quickly running out of ideas, I gave into the childish desire to see him rock on his heels, and so pushed his chest, causing him to lose his balance for a moment. "I'm not an idiot Onyx—you serve Darkness and would have me do the same."

"You would have followed me once."

I sat back, stunned. Onyx had never—_never!_—brought up my connection with Zekk before unless it was to condemn me. _Why now?_

He had me cornered.

I willed my gaze to become cold. "I would have followed _Zekk_ because I trusted and respected him. _Zekk_ understood compassion, whereas you are ruthless. I feel nothing but disgust and hatred for _you_." _Shavit__, am I shaking!_

He knew he had me cornered; I could see victory in his eyes.

"Say yes, Jaya." I winced as I felt part of my will dissolve under the sway of his voice. The way he said my name…. _Shavit__. I am so dead. Can't I say **anything**?_ "We can discuss possible rights—I have a great deal of power, Jaina." His voice was hypnotizing, so like Zekk's…I was losing sight of why I _shouldn't_ give in.

"I will not betray my loved ones." Or would I? My head was spinning. I was out of moves. _This can't be happening! _Chewie_ taught me how to play dejarik! I don't just run out of ideas!_

"It is not treason, not really," he continued compellingly. "It saves your life—you cannot help them if you are a fugitive yourself. Join me and gain the power, the _security_, you need."

_Jacen,_ I reminded myself desperately. Surely I could not betray my own brother – my twin!

_Jacen's dead_, a voice remarked coldly._ He cannot be betrayed where he is._ That voice was that of hard calculation—the part of me that had already given in for the sake of the privileges that could be received. _Take one step back and two forward. You can't lose._

_But Tenel Ka and the children. Aarylia—your apprentice, Solo! Do you want to betray her? And Dad_—_what about him? What would Mother say?_

_Your mother abandoned you. She left you to save yourself._

_She must have had her reasons! No matter what, she would not want you to give in._

_So? Who cares what she wants?_ the hard tactician in me demanded callously._ She doesn't care about what **you** want. She never did, did she? _

_It's treason to agree!_

_You could help them. You can't do that now._

"Jaina?" I turned to him, my body beginning to shake slightly with the impact of what was happening. Onyx was changing in front of my very eyes, and I could see Zekk peeking out, could see the softening in his eyes. His eyes…oh Force…they were Zekk's eyes. Was it really Zekk asking me to join him? Or was it Onyx? I couldn't remember which was which. They were beginning to blend before my eyes. The lines were smudging, right when I needed them most. Gone was the black and white of before – Zekk, good; Onyx, bad. Empire, wrong; New Republic, right.

_The __New__Republic__ is dead. It is irrelevant to your decision. Dammit, is it Zekk or Onyx asking me to join him! I can't tell!_

"Jaina? Please, just say yes." My mind came undone then. It was—I couldn't be wrong. I could see his eyes, the two tone emerald eyes that I loved. His features were softer, tenderness, friendship and more radiating from his aura. It was Zekk. It _had_ to be.

I took a shuddering breath and, before I could tear the offer apart once more, I put my trust in Zekk and my hand in his. "Yes. I will." _Sweet Force, Solo, what are you doing! You can still take it ba_— I stopped listening to the little voice. "Yes," I said more firmly. "I will join the Empire."

The man before me smiled softly, and I returned it with a small smile of my own. Zekk had never led me the wrong way before and my trust in him was complete. _But what if it is to Onyx and not Zekk that I speak?_

I shook my head. I can't doubt—it's too late for that. 

He—Onyx, Zekk, or whoever he was now—slipped one arm around my shoulders, the other under my knees, and picked me up effortlessly. At my curious look, he pulled me closer, his lips brushing my ear as he spoke. "Much as _I_ trust your word, there are those who need it on record."

I took a deep breath and nodded, letting him take me to a nearby office.

_There is no more time for doubts…it **must** be Zekk…it must._

(End of Jaina's POV)

* * *

(Onyx's POV) 

I should have felt the sweet taste of triumph when Jaina agreed. For years I had wanted to bring her to my side, and making her a citizen—well, slave, but that would be remedied as soon as Brakiss was out of the way—of the Empire was just the first step. It wouldn't be long now. I should have been picking out titles for her.

Frustratingly enough, I wasn't.

I watched as she swore allegiance to the Empire; watched as she agreed to terms that she had once spat on, and realized that this victory was empty.

Why?

It couldn't have been because of her initial rejection of my offer; I had expected it, hadn't I? No, it couldn't be that; nor was the harsh bartering I had done to achieve this triumph battering against my conscience. So what…?

It came to me in a flash: her eyes.

Yes…there _had_ been something in those sienna orbs that I was not used to seeing. What had it been? In all the time that she had been my captive I had never seen—_that_ expression coming from _her_. I had seen anger, certainly; defiance, always; pride, often; but never…

_Emperor's black bones, what was it that I saw in her eyes!_

Jaina must have felt the Force ripple with my anger because she looked up at me from her chair, her eyes shuttered. The Empire official cuffed her shoulder sharply, drawing her attention back to him, gesturing severely at the papers and datapads before her. The tension in her shoulders was contagious, and I wondered vaguely if I had ever seen her relaxed.

_That's it!_

Her eyes had been calm when she agreed – she had been _tranquil_ about her decision. What had clinched her loyalty? What had allowed to her to concur and have no regrets? What!

I was no fool; the idea that she had changed her opinion of the Empire – a government that had kidnapped and enslaved her – was absurd. No, it wasn't that…but what was? What did she owe allegiance to above even her own family, who had fought against the Empire most of their lives? What did she abide by enough to agree to something so…so…_treasonous_? Had she really thought that she could aid her friends by joining the Empire? Was she that gullible?

No.

Without realizing it, I began to pace, my black cape swirling around my legs. I was not the Darkest Knight—a Sith Lord in everything but name—for nothing. I had survived the deceit, backstabbing and ulterior motives of the Imperial court. I had learned to twist people's minds so that they believed they were doing what they wanted, even when they were my puppets. Surely, figuring out the mind of a simple Jedi would not be hard?

_No, Lord Onyx. She is too powerful. She could—and would—escape you too easily._

Brakiss' words came back to me with all the subtlety of a flash of lightning, increasing my confusion. Jaina could have escaped me – could have slipped out of my hands—but she hadn't. Why?

Unless…did she have her own reasons for staying? I shook my head in confusion. What did she think could she _possibly_ accomplish?

_"Someone once told me that you can see who someone really is in their sleep. I wanted to see who you were."_

___"And what, pray tell, were you hoping to find?"_

_____"What do you think?"_

Zekk.

_Zekk!_

If I hadn't been so flabbergasted by my revelation I might have laughed. _So, the almighty, all defiant Jaina Solo has a weakness, does she?_ It was just too ironically perfect. Zekk had taken what scraps of worthiness he had and made me—all to please Jaina, the very person for whom she was willing to commit treason.

_____"Look to your past, my friend. Your answers are there."_

_____She's a fool indeed if she thinks Zekk's going to come back_, I thought, my restless pacing coming to an abrupt stop. However, if she wanted to believe she could, she was quite welcome to try. I nearly laughed out loud, the vitality of triumph finally coming as I turned back to Jaina and the Imperial officer. _____Oh, yes, Miss Solo, you can attempt to bring back your Zekk, but in the meantime…_

My body froze quite suddenly, my limbs refusing to move.

_____Drowning…suffocation…enduring black coldness…he _must not_ win…_

_____She is running – running…push out of the way; a scream and a flash of a red lightsaber…blood_—_so dazed…Brakiss! NO!_

_____Brown hair spills out on the floor, her body lying in a heap…brown, lifeless eyes…treason…_

___I gasped and tried to push the images away but my arms felt as if they were weighted down by great boulders._

_____Drowning…is there nothing that can be used to pull myself out? The ground, slipping underneath my feet…cold, sliding up my spine, freezing all thought, numbing my mind…brown eyes…a warm hand in mine…pulling me out_—_no, pushing me in! What are you doing? What have I done to deserve this? Why do you pull _him_ out and leave me here? Save me…please…_

The visions left as quickly as they had appeared, and the only proof that anything had occurred was found in lingering numbness of my limbs…

(End of Onyx's POV)

* * *

"Who did I kill?" 

Sanar froze, her back to Kyp, in stunned silence.

_(Her_ _mother, crumpling to the ground, a huddled, wretched mass of tears…)_

She felt him place a blue hand on her shoulder—a silky, cool sensation. "Who did you know on Carida?" She trembled.

_(Her brother had heard the commotion and came running out. "Mother? Mother! What happened?" He turned to her, anxious and almost frantic. "Sanar, what happened?")_

How could she find Kyp's voice so soothing? How could she draw comfort and strength from his Force-touch? After everything he had done!

"Sanar?"

She clamped down on her iron control. She had not cried in years, and she was not going to start now. Moving jerkily, she banged the lid onto the soup pot, the harsh clatter shaking her bones.

_(Her mother looked up with dead eyes. At first, Sanar thought she was going to answer Devnos' questions, but when __Caesarea__ opened her mouth only a keening wail of utter despair and anguish escaped.)_

An edge of worry crept into Kyp's voice. "Sanar? Sanar! Who—was—it?"

Her breathing quickened. So many memories… No! She would not remember! How dare he try to make her! Didn't he know how painful it all was! How dare he push! Who had given him the right?

_(Her_ _mother was babbling, even as she melted in a pool of tears. "Jarran…oh, my Jarran…why, _why_!")_

Kyp's voice softened still more, hypnotizing her. "Sanar? Who was it?"

The beginnings of a sob escaped, and Sanar clapped a hand over her mouth, her chest rising and falling rapidly as she tried to push back the waterfall that wanted to fall from her eyes.

_(Her blood ran cold. Jarran? But that would mean… NO! She couldn't breathe, and it wasn't for lack of trying. Her lungs had shrunk, and her heart beat too fast, too frantic, to adjust._ Jarran…but that means… No, no, _no_! She has to mean someone else—she has to!)

She gave up trying to hold them back, and the tears cascaded down her cheeks. It might have been her imagination but she thought she felt an airy hand brush at her tears.

_(Her brother pulled her mother into a half-hug. Spotting a piece of white paper, he plucked it from the inconsolable woman's fingers. He read it once; then twice; then another time, before looking up at Sanar. He opened his mouth to speak but his voice cracked on her name._

___Before he could speak further, she ran, her hands over her ears._ It can't be true…Mama was just—babbling! Oh, Mujir, it can't…no…it can't be true…no…she meant another Jarran…yes…another Jarran…)

The pot was hissing and when she took the lid off and dumped some vegetables in, boiling water sprayed up, burning the skin on her arm. Distantly she wondered at her ability to care about such a little thing as her flesh when she was on the verge of an emotional collapse.

"I'm sorry, Sanar."

___(She ran, ran as fast as she could, as far as she could, trying to escape the truth. It could not be…it just couldn't! He had promised he would be back! He would never lie to her!)_

Her hand—which had been rubbing her burn lightly—tightened. "'I'm sorry'?" she whispered, blinking rapidly, turning to regard him, her dark eyes wide with horrified astonishment. "After all you've done, after all you've destroyed, you think 'I'm sorry' can even ___begin to make up for it_?"

He flinched, as if her words had hit him like a cat-of-tails to the face. "Of course not, but…"

"No," she bit out, some of her fire returning. "Nothing you can do can ever make up for what you did. Nothing," she repeated bitterly.

"At least let me know what I took from you, Sanar," Durron pleaded. "I'm the one who should be carrying the brunt of it, not you."

She sniffled and couldn't help but notice how…pathetic he looked at that moment, shoulders drooped and face twisted in misery and remorse. "That was a little over the top, don't you think?" she asked, forcing a tight laugh to avoid shedding more hateful tears.

He shrugged pitifully and they fell into silence, one with tears tracing down her cheeks, and the other wondering if watching the other's pain—pain he had caused—was his own private torture chamber in Hell.

The silence was broken by the timer, and Sanar turned back to the oven and turned it off, placing the pot on another burner. Turning back to Kyp, she found him gone. Her pride and strength vanishing abruptly, she crumpled to the floor and released a cry:

_"__Daddy…_"

* * *

Jaina would never be able to remember her first few hours as an official Imperial. Of course, she always remembered with clinical clarity the time before she signed her name on the dotted line that made her an Imperial slave. She could remember every thundering ___thump_ of her heart as she tore through her decision, looking for the logic. 

The problem was, she had found after what seemed years of searching, there was too much practicality in her answer to Onyx's proposition.

She had always felt a certain resentment toward reasonable decisions that twisted her gut. It had to be a trait she received from her father; it couldn't be from her mother.

Jaina could recall the exact texture of Onyx's—or Zekk's?—tunic from when he had pulled her to him. She doubted she would ever forget the colour of the carpet in the room she had officially betrayed her government, her family, and her friends. The pen she had used to sign the documents was old and hadn't worked at first, and she could remember every scratchy, faded line it had made when she tried to make it work.

But as soon as pen left paper and the document was filed away, her memories became foggy. Images of a man that looked at her with disdain, the face of the woman who had jabbed a needle in Jaina's arm… Zekk—or Onyx—hadn't left her side, she knew, but that was the only thing her mind clung to. She thought maybe the shark of a man Onyx—or Zekk—had taken her to was a doctor, because she was fairly certain he had talked about a surgery.

Her presence of mind returned when she—sitting in her new hover chair—and Onyx (or Zekk) returned to Onyx's quarters. The first thing she noticed was the aroma of soup. Not long after that, the Force told her someone had begun to break from grief. Her brow creased and her mouth tugged into a frown as she tried to figure out who was so distraught that she might be able to sense it. Her dark-haired companion noticed her consternation.

"Jedi Solo? Is something wrong?" Her eyes flicked upward when she recognized how he had addressed her. Onyx stepped ahead of her, jade eyes sweeping the main room for trouble, his hand on the hilt of the lightsaber clipped to his belt.

A door opened to the side and both the Jedi Knight and Sith apprentice looked over, one tensing, the other's eyes widening in surprise. "I kept the soup at a simmer," Sanar said impassively, not acknowledging her tear-read eyes. "When you're ready to eat, you can." Her goal accomplished, the dancer headed toward Onyx's quarters, spine as straight as a metal pole.

Onyx dismissed Sanar, but Jaina's eyes followed the other woman. The distress she could feel through the Force undoubtedly came from Sanar, but what could possibly upset a girl while she made ___soup_?

Even as she wondered, her answer came and she silently cursed. ___Kriffing Sith; Durron, what did you **do**?_ Sighing, she worked the controls until her hover chair manoeuvred across the room to the door to Onyx's quarters. Looking over her shoulder, she saw Onyx heading into the kitchen. Would he notice her absence? Disgusted, she shook her head. Who gave a frelling bantha if he did?

She knocked on the door quietly, hoping for free entry but not expecting it. "Sanar?"

There was no answer, as she had expected, and she palmed the door open to reveal the dim chamber. She progressed across the room to Sanar's slumped form by the window. The only sound in the room was the women's breathing and the light sound of traffic in the distance. "I didn't answer because I don't want to see you," Sanar finally spoke.

"I know. I thought I should be here anyway."

Sanar shifted so that she could see Jaina. Her own face—minus several years—stared back at her. "I do not wish to have company." She turned away once more and watched the evening traffic blindly.

"What did he do?" The question was resigned, weary, unlike what Sanar had always before heard from Solo. When Sanar didn't answer, Solo sighed. "Look, I know he did something, and you know I know it. You may as well 'fess up so we can get this bonding thing over with."

"What's in it for you?" Sanar asked bitterly, her eyes closing. "Brownie points with Onyx?"

Jaina tsked her disappointment, and Sanar could almost see the younger girl roll her eyes. "As if I want them." She paused, then, "Sanar, I don't want Onyx, alright? I never have. You can have him for all I care. Why you would want him I haven't a clue, but I figure that's your own business. We're not competitors."

It was Sanar's turn to roll her eyes. "Right, and the Lord Emperor is not Emperor Palpatine."

Solo muttered something that sounded like, "Exactly," but Sanar couldn't be sure.

The two lapsed into silence before Onyx called Jaina through their bond. Groaning, the Jedi Knight glanced at the door, then said, "Don't let him belittle you, Sanar. He's the bad guy, the one you're not supposed to listen to."

When the dancer turned to Solo, a retort on her lips, the Jedi raised a hand to ward off Sanar's protests. "Maybe you can't see that, Sanar, but I assure you, he'll kill you when he has what he wants if you don't stand up to him." Twin brandy eyes met for a moment, then Jaina spun her chair around and left Sanar alone once more.

* * *

Jaina kept her eyes tightly shut even when Onyx positioned her body so that she would be comfortable throughout the night, while keeping her spine straight. She waited until she heard the swish of his cape, then the hiss of the door closing, before she opened her eyes. She stared straight ahead of her, her eyes slowly adjusting to the darkness of the room, aided by the moonlight that was filtering in. Tears began to sting her eyes, but she pushed them back. She would not cry; not until she was back in her father's arms, not until she escaped. It was, the girl in the bed thought, better this way. If she cried her grief would catch up with her and she would never stop. When it was safe, she would allow the tears to slip through. When the war was over she would grieve. 

Onyx thought he had won; he thought he had beaten her. A low, dangerous laugh escaped her. Onyx should have guarded his thoughts, should have kept up the appearance of being Zekk. She smiled bitterly.

___Onyx_, she thought, ___you should have checked my signature_.

"Jana Salo" fell asleep with a smirk on her lips.

Onyx entered his bedchamber cautiously. Finding the slave (___Sanar_, he could almost hear Jaina correct him) with his eyes, he stalked through the room, shucking his shirt as he moved. He sat on the edge of his bed, watching Sanar, who, at the moment, was facing away from him. "Sanar." It was a command and a question; commanding her to come to him, questioning what had happened between her and Jaina.

"Please, Lord Onyx, I'm very tired tonight."

His mouth twisted into a scowl. Who did she think she was, all of a sudden? What had Jaina told her? "As am I," he told her sharply. "Come here."

She turned around to face him, but pulled away when he reached for her. "Please."

Angered, he used the Force to throw her against the wall. For a moment she seemed pinned there, then she slid down, shoulders slumped and head lowered. She did not move from her limp rag-doll position, and Onyx felt his blood boil. Couldn't she at least fight back? He growled. She looked too much like Jaina; he had expected her to act like Jaina as well. He had made that mistake a few too many times.

Walking over, he jerked Sanar's head up by the hair. He had time only to see the hurt in her eyes before his fist connected with her face, and then again.

He did not see the angry blue form that stood watching in the corner.

_

* * *

Long lost words whisper slowly to me____  
Still can't find what keeps me here____  
When all this time I've been so hollow inside____  
I know you're still there___

___Watching me wanting me____  
I can feel you pull me down  
__Fearing you loving you  
__I won't let you pull me down _

___Hunting you I can smell you – alive  
Your heart pounding in my head _

___Watching me wanting me  
I can feel you pull me down  
Saving me raping me  
Watching me _

Haunted, by Evanescence

Sanar awoke on the floor the next morning, various areas of her body—especially her face—throbbing, and her legs freezing. Pushing herself up gingerly, she looked over to the large bed to her left. Onyx was still asleep, the red sheets arranged haphazardly over him. She stood, then winced in pain as the sudden movement caused pain to shoot up her ankle. Gritting her teeth, she deliberately placed more pressure on the sore ankle, and then headed across the room to the 'fresher.

When the door swished open, Onyx stirred and she thought she heard him mutter (caress) a name. Unable to face Onyx so soon after he had betrayed her trust (for fear of what she might to do him, or because of her pride, she didn't know), she ducked into the 'fresher quickly and locked the door behind her. Resting her head against the door, she waited to hear and feel Onyx pounding on the door, ready to do what she might have to do to protect herself. ___Stay away from me, Onyx. I don't know what I'll do if I am pushed again…_ The pounding did not come and for a moment she let herself believe that maybe—maybe—she would not have to relieve the nightmare of Horaire—

___Pounding fists against the door, shaking the wood until her head throbbed._ **The punishment for xafuzinxsh****—the crime of disobeying a male—is _death_…**_"Sullied whore! How dare you defy me! I grow tired of these games, you cheap niftyax_—_"_

—all over again. Her eyes closed for a moment before she pushed herself away from the door. She was shaking, she realized dumbly, as she walked to the mirror. Her reflection begged for mercy, her strength nearly spent. She had thought she had left this behind on Na'Lein'yhpaon – the exhaustion, the terror, the prejudice… She had thought Onyx had saved her, but knowing what she did now…seeing yet another kryntath react this way… Would it have been better if Onyx had never stopped Wyplan's rage? Horaire's brand burned on the back of her neck, reinforcing what she knew: She could not escape Pucijir's Order. The farther she ran, the faster it spread, ruthlessly chasing her, trying to catch her in its spidery web of prejudice and hatred and suffering…

___Devnos told you it would be like this – he _told___you Onyx was not what you thought him to be._

Oh, yes, how her dear, older brother would gloat if he only knew that she knew he was right. Devnos had always hated Lord Onyx; when Sanar had defied him and his power-hungry plans, he had been angry enough to claim ___yfthen_ over her. Even though she had known how far he had fallen, hearing her own brother—her childhood protector—use the cruel power given to men on Na'Lein'yhpaon ,just because he wanted the power of Lord Onyx, had been one of the most horrible moments of her life. Hearing the stark betrayal pour out of his mouth… Feeling everything within her turn to ice and fire at the same time, caught between a cultivated-from-a-young-age brother-worship and her own heart…

Devnos would never know how close he had come to breaking her then, by becoming no better than Rafintair himself. How could there be hope for any of them when one so sensitive and kind as her brother had become a monster? How could her brother, who had shared his stories and art with only her, who had always gone out of his way to make her feel special and protected, have changed so drastically because of power?

___Men like to conquer; it is not our place to deny them_, her mother had said softly when Sanar had run to her for help. ___It is our job as women to cultivate their hearts and minds; our job to pray for them and bring purity and beauty to their lives, thereby_—_we pray_—_atoning for our sins_. Sanar had never had any illusions about her poor mother's fragility – she had never been the same since her beloved Jarran's death. The blow of losing the one she had always leaned on had been enough to send Caesarea to the brink of insanity.

Women on Na'Lein'yhpaon were expected to be like Sanar's mother—weak without men, their only purpose in life to bring into the galaxy more sons. But Sanar refused to be like her mother; she would not be trampled into the dust by males. She had always been her father's daughter, rather than mother's. She had always given her everything to help those she loved. Even as alone as she now was, Sanar would continue to live that way—but at what price to her soul? She rarely thought of it; in fact, she avoided the horror that was being wreaked upon her soul at all costs. But how long could she avoid the bill of what she had paid?

Clayra had needed her, had needed her intelligence and protection—and Sanar had harboured her, even at the severe price of her innocence. Her mother had had to be sheltered from the cruelty of their world, and Sanar had done so, barely knowing at the time that she sacrificed her freedom and dignity. Gantik had needed to be loved, and for him she had sold her heart, only to have it trampled.

Many looked at her and saw only her profession, only the way she "loved" a Sith apprentice, as if that meant anything, as if they were looking past everything and into her core. She was the product of others' weaknesses, others' need for protection, and others' ignorance of the galaxy's horror. The bruises on her face could never compare to the raw wounds on her soul—if she still had one left. After all she had done, she could not be sure she was not stone.

She leaned in toward the mirror, her fingers resting lightly on it as a tear slipped from her eye and down her bruised cheek. "Is it worth it?" she whispered to her reflection helplessly. Finding no answer, her head dropped and the muscles in her arms tightened, as if she was bracing herself against an inevitable impact that would either kill or save her.

* * *

Onyx woke early that morning, a light bounce to his step, belying the nightmares that had plagued him throughout the night. Shielding himself from Brakiss but leaving himself completely open to the new Imperial in the room next to him, he made his way to the kitchen. Today marked Jaina's first full day as a sworn Imperial; he would make sure she didn't regret it the way some did. He had seen Brakiss lose too much because of a bitter and rebellious ex-mistress to make the mistake of pushing too fast. If he had anything to do with it, Jaina would see a good deal of the Empire's positive aspects before she saw any more of the negative. 

Surprising himself, he hummed a few bars under his breath. Shaking his head self-mockingly at the contented tune, he nevertheless relished the small rebellion against Brakiss. It was pleasing, like a high from a drug, but perhaps more dangerous. Brakiss would not hesitate to eliminate him, if he could.

It had not always been this way, with Brakiss trying to destroy Onyx and vice versa. Once, Onyx had seen Brakiss as a father replacement, but then the Master Sith had tossed the benevolent philanthropist disguise to the side. It had started with small things—things Onyx could have ignored, had they not escalated.

It had begun only with one or two of Onyx's most trusted trainees being sent into the most dangerous situations. Onyx had been naïve at the time, and instead of being suspicious, had been proud that Brakiss recognized his affinity for training Dark warriors. It was only in hindsight that he recognized Brakiss' motives.

As Onyx's lust for power began to grow, his list of allies had grown steadily shorter and he became more wary. Then…Peckhum.

___One dark, cold day Onyx received a transmission from Brakiss saying there was an assassin in one of the private courtyards—Onyx's own, in fact. The assassin, his master said, was a sly traitor and would not stop until Brakiss was dead. Onyx, still very loyal to his emperor despite his lust for power, was angered enough to go after the "assassin" himself. _

___Upon reaching the courtyard Onyx instantly spotted a clandestine figure, hood covering his face. Without waiting for the man to give an excuse—this was obviously the one his master had told him of—Onyx drew his blaster and fired. The assassin went down, and Onyx stalked over, determined to find the identity of the would-be assassin. _

___When he drew back the hood, Zekk was struck with horror; it was Peckhum that lay before him, not just any Rebel. The old spacer's face was greying quickly, his eyes wide and pained. Seeing Zekk, he tried to smile but it looked more like a grimace. "Zekk?" he muttered, his eyes beginning to lose their focus. _

___Peckhum did not wait for an answer; perhaps he had known he would not get one. "I wanted to see you," he told the man that had shot him. The old man fumbled in his pocket distractedly, seeming certain that he spoke to the boy he had known, rather than a Sith apprentice. _

___Believing Peckhum was reaching for his gun in a last-ditch effort to finish off whatever sick joke the Rebels had thought up now, Onyx's hand fell his lightsaber. The dying man faltered a moment, then pulled his hand out of the folds of his cloak to reveal a holo device. Seeing Onyx's confusion Peckhum smiled wanly. "She_—_she still hasn't_—_given up on_—_you…Zekk." _

___Onyx frowned but took the holo and thumbed it on, angling away from the so-called assassin. A blue-ish image of Jaina and Zekk stared back at him. Zekk, Onyx noticed, remembered it, though he seemed faintly surprised about something. Onyx studied the holo a moment, feeling part of him soften. Attempting to push aside the unexpected emotions that were flooding him, he turned back to Peckhum, a question on his lips, only to find the spacer had become one with the Force while Onyx was turned away. _

___A harsh wind began suddenly and seemed to release the dark-haired man from his stupor. Moving almost frantically, he searched Peckhum for a blaster, a knife, a vibro-blade_—_anything that the elderly man could have used with malicious intent. _

___He had found only another holo of Zekk, from when Peckhum had first met the nine-year-old boy. _

___It was the first time Onyx cried, even if it was only because Zekk's grief was powerful enough to blur Onyx's mind and send him to his knees. Zekk wept for Peckhum, and the corruption of the galaxy, and for himself. _

___Onyx did not know how long he stayed there, sobbing in a crumpled heap before Peckhum's corpse. When Zekk's grief became more controlled, it was dark out, mirroring Onyx's mood. Peckhum had not been an assassin or a traitor—if anything, Brakiss was the traitor. For as long as he had known the Sith Master Onyx had served him loyally. He had thought of Brakiss as his role model—his father, even. He had believed that_—_considering how Brakiss seemed only too happy to treat Onyx like a son—the affection and devotion was mutual. If it had ever been real, though, it had disappeared sometime when neither Onyx nor Zekk had been paying attention. Peckhum's death was proof enough of that. _

___As he stood and began to walk to his quarters, he tried to unravel Brakiss. What had, or would have, Peckhum's death accomplished? What had Brakiss been thinking when he left the message for Onyx? Had it been a test of loyalty? If so, then why? Had he not proved his allegiance to Brakiss time and time again? Or was it to see if he was loyal to something else; the Dark side, perhaps? _

Onyx sighed. Even now, after these past years, he did not know why Brakiss had done what he had. Perhaps it didn't matter; perhaps the only thing that mattered was that, after Peckhum's death, not even Onyx's once-loyalty to Brakiss could stem his desire to have his master's power. As time passed, any true affection disappeared into the abyss of an all-consuming hatred. Unconsciously, his right hand began to clench in a fist, imagining it was Brakiss' neck…

"Lord Onyx?"

The voice broke into his thoughts, and he turned to see Sanar standing by the kitchen table. She looked worn and he could see her bruises even through the make-up she had tried to cover it with; he felt a flicker of guilt, but pushed it away. She should not have defied him the way she had. Angry that a dancer—a slave—could make him feel guilty, he snarled, "What?"

Her eyes were weary, as if she had been through this scene many times and knew every line, every action, off by heart. Then again, he realized, considering where she had been when he first saw her, and taking in what he had heard, she probably had. "There is a holo-message for you," she told him, with a subtle edge to her voice. She gestured to the blinking red light on the nearby console. "I thought—"

"You ___thought_," he mocked bitterly. He watched with some surprise as her face hardened, chin lifting imperceptibly, the fires of pride and defiance in her eyes; and this was after only two conversations with Jaina! ___Obviously Jaina is more eloquent and influential than I thought._ Going to the holo-messenger console, he reached out to play the message, then paused, his eyes sliding toward Sanar. "Why are you still here?"

Her chin raised another notch. "The Empire does not begrudge even a slave food—my lord." The end she tacked on, almost as if it was an afterthought, he noticed with a frown. Turning on her heel, she stalked over to the kitchen cupboards and began to search for some rations.

He waited a moment, but when she did not appear to be in any hurry to leave, he gave a disgruntled "hmph" and thumbed the activation switch to retrieve the message. When Brakiss' image appeared, any remnants of Onyx's good mood vanished. Seeing the smug glint in his "master's" eye, the Darkest Knight had to wonder if Brakiss had known what his message would do to his apprentice. Probably; Brakiss had always loved irritating people without doing something wrong.

Scowling, Onyx turned the volume up. "Lord Onyx," the Emperor's voice—altered to sound like Palpatine's—began mildly. "I heard of Jedi Solo's agreement to ally with the Empire; well done. She has begun her path down the Dark side, and it will not be long before she turns."

Brakiss paused for a moment and Onyx allowed himself a small laugh at the Sith master's expense. Brakiss spoke as if Jaina would go along with anyone's agenda other than her own. Fool—he was far too trusting. If Jaina allied with anyone it would be with Onyx; he would see to that. Brakiss should not have entrusted Jaina to one of his most silently destructive adversaries.

The gloating Sith apprentice did not notice Sanar's stare.

Seemingly oblivious, the "Palpatine" figure continued. "However, until we can trust her, we will continue with our plans to neutralize the potential threat she presents. I expect you to be at the lab to have her outfitted with a Force suppressor at the pre-arranged time." The kindly façade dropped a moment as the image scowled at where he had expected Onyx to be. "If you fail me in this, Lord Onyx, Citizen Solo will experience the brunt of my wrath; you know of what I speak." Brakiss let the threat hang between them for a moment before he donned the pleasant mask once again. "I am sure that won't be necessary. I will see you at 0900 tomorrow, Lord Onyx." The image flickered once, then faded.

Onyx cursed vehemently, causing Sanar to jolt out of her own thoughts; still he did not notice her. ___Take his wrath out on Jaina…_. Onyx's hand curled into a fist. Yes, he knew ___exactly_ what Brakiss spoke of, and he would not stand for Jaina to undergo such a thing. He had seen what Brakiss did to his girls when he was tired of them; it was horrendous. Onyx had only heard rumours of what Brakiss did when he was angry—not to mention the shrieks of agony that echoed through the Force for months before they were silenced horribly.

Onyx had killed girls who displeased or angered him, yes, but he gave them a mercifully quick death. Brakiss broke their minds and their spirits. Death was synonymous with compassion when Brakiss was done, and the Emperor did not know mercy.

If Brakiss so much as looked at Jaina, he would find out just how cruel and unmerciful Zekk and Onyx, united, could be…

* * *

Jaina woke drowsily when the blanket was pulled away from her. Shivering as the cold air hit her—___who in the blazes opened the window?_—she tried to curl into a ball but her legs would not respond. Propping herself up on her elbow, she blinked blearily at the blanket-thief. "Sanar?" she mumbled as she brought her left hand up to shade her eyes. Peering a little more closely at her mirror image, she frowned. "What happened to your face? It looks like you applied your—" she yawned "—your eye shadow with a sponge." Sanar's hand went to her face self-consciously. ___Jedi are far too observant in the morning_. Instead of answering the Jedi, the dancer eyed Jaina critically. "Well, you're a skinny thing; who was your trainer?" 

The younger woman blinked owlishly as she began to wake up more. "My…trainer?" she repeated in confusion.

Sanar rolled her eyes in impatience. "Your owner, then; or are you independent?"

Jaina gave Sanar an odd look, finally realizing what the other was getting at. "You've never heard of me? Or at least the last name 'Solo'?" At Sanar's blank look, Jaina sighed. "I am—was," she corrected with a grimace, "a Rebel colonel, and a Jedi Knight."

"So Onyx just saw you at the slave market and decided he wanted you?" Sanar asked sceptically.

Jaina began to rub her hands up and down her arms, trying to get warm as she wondered how much she should tell the other woman. "My parents are Han and Leia Solo; I'm their only remaining—" her breath hitched in her throat but she pushed on, "—their only remaining child. The Empire wishes to use me against them." She paused, then, "Brakiss isn't exactly known for his TLC of prisoners—especially when the prisoners are female." Well, it was close enough; the Empire ___did_ want to use her against the Rebellion—was Jaina to blame if Sanar thought it was by way of blackmail?

Sanar nodded, accepting the answer even if it had not been what she wanted. "So he's after you because of your family." She quirked an eyebrow, letting Solo know just how absurd her reply had been.

Jaina felt the corners of her mouth twitch. "Why would he be after anything else?"

Sanar smirked, but her eyes were friendlier. "Well, he's not after your looks, that's for sure."

Jaina laughed out loud, startling Sanar. "So, Imperials ___do_ have a sense of humour," she managed, looking at the other woman with a little more approval, and a teasing glint in her eyes.

Sanar opened her mouth to reply but was cut off by Onyx's entrance. "Sleep well, Jaya?" he asked, smiling at the young woman on the bed. His grin, Jaina noticed, was a little forced. Her eyes flicked over to Sanar, then back to Onyx. The air was stale with tension; any amity that had begun to take hold was gone now. It was as if Sanar had suddenly realized who she had been civil to.

But the tension was not just between the two women; the tension between Sanar and Onyx was so thick Jaina could have cut it with a knife. Jaina mulled over this for a moment, then the found the answer in Sanar's bruised skin. ___He beat her_. The thought brought an unexpected fury. How dare Onyx hit Sanar! ___Why_ would he? Had Sanar displeased him? How could she, when there was almost nothing more irresistible to a man than a woman that was in love with him? Why, it was nearly as irresistible as…

…As a woman that didn't. Jaina's blood turned to lava and her hands tightened into fists. If this had anything to do with her, Jaina would tear his throat out and personally hand feed him to the vultures of the Imperial court. She glared wrathfully at Onyx, picturing the ways she could punish him, Zekk or no.

Upon imagining a roasted swine with the head of Onyx and an apple in its mouth, she stopped abruptly, realizing just what was going through her head.

Why did she care? She had known how Onyx treated his slaves for some time now; she had been beaten herself, hadn't she? Her hand smoothed over her hip, feeling the scars that were slowly disappearing. Sanar had probably gotten away easily; she was walking, wasn't she? Onyx had doubtless only knocked Sanar around once or twice; there wasn't anything to be concerned about. ___It's nothing_, she assured herself, not allowing her eyes to see Sanar's abrasions.

As she distanced herself from that dangerous territory, she realized Onyx was awaiting an answer from her. "Pardon?"

He watched her a moment before asking, "Did you sleep well?"

She sent a fake smile his way, letting some of her bitterness bleed through. "As well as one can when they're paralysed from the waist-down."

Onyx's smile disappeared and Jaina's followed a half-second later. "Your first surgery is in two hours; your second is in one week, four days. You won't be off your feet for long."

Jaina fell back onto her bed, closing her eyes with a sigh. "And my therapy starts…?"

She seemed weary, not that Onyx blamed her; therapy would be difficult and painful. "Tomorrow, at ten hundred hours."

"Without the Force." Her voice was so quiet that Onyx almost didn't hear her.

"The Lord Emperor—"

"Brakiss," she muttered impudently, but her tone was more drained than venomous.

Sanar looked alarmed but Brakiss' threat had angered Onyx enough that he had no wish to stop Jaina from saying the truth. "The Emperor commands that you wear the Force suppressor until the Empire can trust you."

She guffawed and opened her eyes, staring at the by-then very familiar ceiling. "___Trust_ me? I know as well as you do that I won't get the Force back until I fall to the Dark side, and then the most idiotic mistake Brakiss could make is ___trusting_ me."

_/__Let_ _Brakiss believe what he wants, Jaina. If he can't foresee his own death, why broadcast a warning?_/ Onyx's eyes flicked over to Sanar pointedly.

Her eyes narrowed into slits and she sat upright. _/__You_ want_me to kill him_/

Onyx regarded her carefully for a moment before cautiously answering, _/__I know better than to underestimate you, Jedi Knight Jaina Solo. I wouldn't dream of believing myself powerful enough to stop you, should you try to gain power_./ He stopped there, deciding it was all she needed to know for now.

_/__And what's to stop me from killing _you_, too?_/ she retorted.

His lips curled into a small smile. ___Zekk will_, he thought, but instead said, _/__I trust you, Jaya_/

Her face smoothed into an emotionless expression a spy would envy. _/__You shouldn't. I may be a Jedi, Onyx, and believe in peace, but I can be more dangerous than you can imagine_/

_/__I have a very good imagination, Jedi Solo. I urge you not to underestimate me_/

* * *

Sanar tamped down her frustration, knowing that the other two were communicating through their bond. ___What I wouldn't give to listen in…_ she thought, watching the range of expressions on Solo's face. Disgust, surprise, and something Sanar couldn't identify. Regret, maybe? But, no, it was too soft for that. The emotion was gone as quickly as it came, making Sanar wonder if she had imagined it. 

The Force was quiet; Solo and Onyx appeared to have come to a stalemate. "Lord Onyx?" Sanar began, her pain from last night's beating becoming more acute. When he turned to her, expression irritated, she stood her ground, refusing to be intimidated like she had been with Horaire. "It's 0830, my lord." She couldn't hold back her anger and bitterness when she spoke the title, but did not care if he took her insult. Let him; she didn't give a frelling bantha anymore. "The Lord Emperor would not be…impressed…if you were late." The words were for Onyx, but there was a warning for Solo. Why she felt the need to caution the Jedi, she didn't know. Perhaps it was because no one deserved Brakiss' wrath, no matter what they had done, but she didn't think so.

An image of Horaire, dead, suddenly appeared in her mind and she shuddered.

___Or, perhaps, I don't want her death on my conscience too…_

* * *

The doctor's hands were rough when he shoved the Force-suppressing collar around her neck and sealed it with a ___snap_. Jaina doubted she would have been feeling this amount of pain if the doctor was even a little sympathetic to a Rebel. Sithin' Imperials, she thought, more out of trepidation than real spite. Her energy for hating stupid and/or petty people was on 'empty'. She had bigger fish to fry—namely Onyx and Brakiss. 

"The collar will greatly mute the slave's Force abilities, but nothing short of Ysalamiri can completely block it." When Onyx didn't reply, the stern medic hurried on. "This is the control panel," he explained to Onyx with a bow. "The slave will be unable to use it." Seeing Jaina looking at the control panel with thinly-disguised disgust, the Imperial added harshly, "It is set to self-destruct if she is foolish enough to try."

Onyx accepted the panel, but Death's Own Hand snatched it from him. "I'll take that, Lord Onyx," Brakiss rasped. Turning his holo-programmed yellow eyes on Jaina, the Emperor grinned maliciously and deliberately pressed the activation button.

The sudden loss of the Force almost sent Jaina flying amongst the stars, but Onyx placed a firm hand on her shoulder and she was able to steady herself. She swallowed back a sob and felt Onyx squeeze her shoulder gently, perhaps in comfort. For once, his touch didn't bother her. At least with Onyx she knew what to expect.

___"The Lord Emperor would not be…impressed…if you were late,"_Sanar had warned her; Jaina couldn't fight Brakiss to his face—not if she wanted to live, that was.

Onyx and Brakiss were arguing, but Jaina blocked it out and squeezed her eyes shut; this, then, was her new life—Forceless and helpless. ___I'm gonna have to talk with whoever planned this vacation._

* * *

Sanar wouldn't meet Jaina's eyes when Onyx and Jaina exited the med-bay. Instead, the older girl trailed behind them, her eyes never moving from the back of Jaina's hoverchair. When Onyx opened the door to the surgery ward, Jaina glanced back. Sanar gave a small shrug, and an even smaller smile, and then sat down on a nearby bench until Onyx and Jaina were ready to leave again. 

Jaina wasn't sure why Onyx had dragged Sanar along, but she figured it was some unconscious attempt on Onyx's part to unsettle both of them. ___More mind games_—_as if we weren't all loony already_, she thought pessimistically.

The surgeon was more indifferent than the medic had been, and Jaina had the feeling that when he looked at her, he saw only a thing that needed to be fixed, like a temperamental hyperdrive unit. Onyx took a seat in the formal waiting room and watched through veiled eyes as she was injected with chloroform.

As the drugs began to work on her mind, Onyx blurred, and she had a sudden, insane desire for Onyx to hold her hand during the surgery. Unconscious and without the Force, she wouldn't be able to tell the difference between Onyx and Zekk and…

Sith…this was going to…hurt, wasn't…it…

And…

She wished that…

Her head lolled to the side, and the surgeon's aide rolled her into the operating room.

* * *

Sanar's eyes flicked up to the clock that hung on the otherwise bare wall across from her. Half-past eleven hundred hours; Solo and Onyx would be out soon. Sanar stood and stretched, trying to work out the stiffness that had begun to enter her body from sitting so still for two hours. 

Sanar froze suddenly as a cold, hard presence made itself known through the Force. "I didn't expect you to be here," she said without turning, stalling for time.

"Nor I, you," her brother snarled, grabbing her by the shoulder and spinning her 'round. "What are you—" Devnos stopped, and his eyes narrowed as he noticed the tiny mark on her forehead. "You are wearing the brand of slavery._Niftyax_!" he cursed. "How could you?"

She flinched and pulled out of his grasp. "At least I'm honest about my slavery," she retorted venomously; she would not let him see her fear. "Where's your leash?"

His fist tightened, and she knew he was fighting the urge to slap her.

___He shook her so hard she could hardly breathe…on her tongue she tasted blood…but the worst part was knowing that it was Devnos, her big brother, who hurt her… How had it come to this?_

"Who is this?" Onyx's voice demanded unexpectedly, breaking into Sanar's memories. She turned, shaking a little, to see the Sith glaring at her brother. Solo was nowhere in sight. "Klis," Onyx said, voice threatening to freeze the entire corridor, if not all of the Imperial Palace.

The muscle in her brother's cheek twitched. "Lord Onyx," he gritted out. Under Onyx's continued, disgusted scowl, Sanar's brother gave a jerky bow, and retreated down the hall. Only when he had disappeared completely from view did Sanar release the breath she had been holding.

She was aware of Onyx's stare, which had been turned upon her the moment her brother left, but she did not explain. She was tired, so tired. She hadn't expected—hadn't wanted—her brother to be here.

There was a short ___whirr_ in the hallway, breaking the silence. Sanar turned at a soft tug on her shirt, and Solo's weary, confused eyes met hers. Surgery hadn't been good to the Jedi, who looked as if she had one foot through Death's door, and Sanar had seen Hoth natives with better complexions. Just the effort to reach up and pull on Sanar's top seemed to have exhausted Solo's muscles. Or, at least, Sanar corrected upon seeing a grimace of pain fly over Solo's face, as if it had torn up a good portion of the Jedi's spine. Instinctively, she pulled her shields in tighter, trying to avoid feeling the waves of pain that Solo could no longer avoid emitting because of the Force-suppressor.

Looking up at Onyx, who was regarding Solo like a mother hen and appearing about as torn as a self-serving Sith could, Sanar decided that it was going to be a long day.

* * *

Miko Reglia had decided that he was a pathetic excuse for a human being, let alone for a Jedi Knight, quite a while ago, but it was especially clear to him when the Emperor told him that he should put his excess energy to good use. Meaning, of course, that Brakiss thought he should go on a Jedi-killing spree. 

Later, in his quarters, Miko had shown his furniture just how impressed he was, and so his rooms currently looked as if they had survived a bomb. He decided he liked the charred décor—the blackened portrait of Brakiss was an especially nice touch.

Miko couldn't decide if his Jedi Master—that is, his master before he had turned—would have been amused or disgusted. On the one hand, he might have found the now catsup-covered scroll listing Miko's "Imperial Rights" almost hilarious. On the other, he might have punished Miko for wasting good food on such a worthless parchment. Kyp Durron had been unpredictable like that.

It had been some time since his former master's death—and just as long since Miko had returned to the Light and become a spy for the Rebellion. That wasn't to say it had been easy—he was still fighting back his inner demons, and half the time he wasn't sure he could beat them. There were times when his anger attacked him like a beast, devouring him, overwhelming him until it was all he could do to keep from screaming. There were moments when he wondered if the New Republic was a lost cause, and if he should turn his back on the Jedi, on his former friends, on all he had been raised to believe. There were times when he still believed Brakiss was right in what he said and did; seconds that he thought about feeding the Rebels the wrong information.

This was not one of those times. No, Brakiss deserved—needed—to be overthrown. It was that simple; he had become completely ruthless, even insane. Brakiss was becoming more and more like Palpatine; Miko wouldn't let the transformation continue.

Brushing some dust off his chair, Miko sat down and pulled a datapad out of his robe pocket. A Force scan told him that no one was watching, but he activated the electronic scrambler on his desk anyway. No one could find out that Miko had the ears of Generals Wedge Antilles and Han Solo—at least, not until after the Rebel attack…

**

* * *

Please R&R:)**

**-Tjz**


	13. Ch11: Countdown

**Terin**: Thanks! I'm sorry you're disappointed in Jaina for signing in…she didn't have much of a choice at the time, but she tricked them with a false (but close) name at the end. And Jaina give up her rebellion tendencies? As if! ;)

* * *

The formatting went a little better this time, so hopefully I caught all the little mistakes; I apologize for any missed problems!

* * *

**Chapter Eleven: Countdown**

(One week later)

Therapy had been especially hard today, and when Fel came to help her back, Jaina did not bother to resist. She didn't protest when he helped her into the hoverchair, or when he yet again refused to bring the crutches along for her to work with. "You will have time for that after your second surgery, Solo," he maintained.

Brakiss had recently been finding more and more things for Onyx to do, and so her so-called master had commanded Jagged Fel—the son of an Imperial Baron—to help Jaina around the Palace and with her therapy. She doubted Fel was pleased with the assignment—he had revealed somewhat grudgingly that he was "a pilot, not a baby-sitter".

Despite his reluctance to be pulled away from his flying, Fel hadn't taken it out on her. Somehow, she found his silence more annoying than if he had constantly griped about it.

"Difficult therapy?" he queried, breaking into her thoughts.

If she had had more energy, she would have glared at him for using that blasted I'm-so-grim-and-impassive voice, but she didn't. "Difficult," she agreed, understating it. 'Escort' or no, he was still an Imperial, and she wouldn't show the depth of her weakness.

"The more difficult the therapy, the better for you," he remarked, taking a disciplinarian tone. "You should be grateful that your therapist pushes you."

Jaina had the mad desire to punch him squarely in the nose for that remark, but settled for curling her hands into fists. "Well, perhaps I should paralyze _you_ from the waist-down, and schedule an appointment for you, too—that way you can tell me if you're being honest, or just blowing around hot air," she snapped.

He didn't respond and, for once, she was grateful; she wasn't in the mood to deal with his condescending attempts to pacify her. She might be paralyzed, but she was still a Solo, and a Jedi Knight.

They continued through the labyrinth of hallways in silence. A lonely part of Jaina regretted her sharp words, but her stubborn pride won out. She wouldn't be the first to apologize, and that was that. Fel might be about the nicest person in the Imperial Palace, but he was still an Imperial, and she was still a slave. Small kindnesses did not excuse a willingness to support tyranny.

She must have drifted into a doze, because the next thing she knew, they were in Onyx's quarters. To her quiet surprise, Onyx was waiting for them; to her greater puzzlement, both Fel and Onyx tensed upon seeing the other.

"You are dismissed, Fel," Onyx stated finally, appearing to have brushed aside his odd reaction to the pilot he had hired to escort Jaina.

Fel hesitated a fraction of a second before bowing stiffly and leaving, but not before squeezing her shoulder in…something. She had decided a few days ago that he felt some sympathy for her, and felt the need to reassure her, however foreign the concept might be to her. Once or twice he had stayed longer than necessary, helping her get comfortable on one of the couches, and activating a holo player or music record. It was more than slightly disconcerting to be comforted by someone she would have been ordered to shoot out of the sky if she was still with her fighter squadron. Still, she had resigned herself to incomprehension after the first few times her suspicious questions had been met only with silence.

When the door hissed closed, Jaina noticed that Onyx's eyes were narrowed in something that looked not quite like distrust. It occurred to her that this was the first time Onyx and Fel had really seen the other while she was present, and wondered if their strange behaviour had sprung from that.

"Didn't Brakiss order you to train the new recruits?" she asked, switching the hoverchair controls from manual to electronic so that she could navigate her way to the couch more easily.

He watched her struggle to get out of the chair and onto the couch; her frustration was evident, even without the Force. "I felt that you might need some help after today's session; you appeared to be in more pain than usual." He sighed, and crossed the room. "Look, just let me help you with that—"

"I can do it myself," she retorted, sending him a piercing glare. She flipped her hair out of her face, and braced her arm and leg muscles. She gathered her strength for a moment, then pushed up and all but threw herself onto the couch. Her legs bashed against the side of the couch, but she barely winced; instead, she let her head drop onto the armrest with a long sigh. "See?" she whispered, breathing heavily. "No…problem."

So, the session had been harder than he had originally thought. "You shouldn't be moving along so quickly with your therapy," he remarked, taking a nearby seat. "You'll undo any progress you make."

She sighed again. "I already have a father, Onyx; I don't need you to pretend you care."

"Jaya—"

"_Kriff. You_," she snarled. "I don't have the energy to put up with your bantha dung right now. I've _seen_ the Empire, okay? You don't have to hand me the brochure, and you don't have to keep playing tour guide. I'm not buying it."

Yes, he would definitely have to talk to the therapist about toning it down. "I'll be the first to admit that the Empire has its…problems," Onyx began carefully.

"Actually, I was the first," she interrupted snidely.

He ignored her. "But you have only seen the negative aftermath that comes from changing governments so severely."

She didn't answer, and he had the feeling she was mentally humming in an attempt to block him out. Her hand was absently rubbing her left thigh—the only way she could relieve her pain without the Force. He didn't doubt it had become a habit by now. Onyx considered trying to use the Force to ease her pain, but she would notice and, in the mood she was currently entertaining, he didn't doubt the effort would be thrown back into his face.

Besides, Darkest Knights never got healing training.

"Where's Sanar?"

He barely heard her, she was so quiet. "Sanar?" She nodded and rubbed her eyes wearily. "I think she's getting some rations." He waved a hand dismissively. "I don't care."

The fact that Jaina did not fly into him about why he _should_ care testified her exhaustion. "You're an idiot, Onyx," she said instead.

"Perhaps," he allowed, "and yet you stay—why?"

She snorted. "You know why." She pushed herself up into a sitting position, her gaze tired, but steady. "I want Zekk back—that's what I've always wanted. You've been playing on that from practically the beginning, don't deny it."

His surprise that she had actually admitted even to that silenced him before he could assure her that Zekk was gone. There was nothing he could say—not if he wanted to hold this over her.

Jaina was studying him through veiled eyes, waiting for his reaction. When he only looked away, she gathered her courage. _This'll never work_, part of her admonished, but she ignored it. Focusing on what little connection to the Force she still had, she whispered through her bond with her beloved/_Zekk?_/

Receiving no reply, she tried/_Can you hear me?_/ There was still no reply. To her dismay, she was fading quickly just from attempting this. _If the Force going to suck me dry, the least it could do is get my message through._ /_I love you, Zekk_./

She was asleep before she could see Onyx freeze in horror as yet another vision crept over him, and effectively drowned him in foreshadowing.

* * *

Lightsabers crackled and squealed as they clashed, neither wielder retreating. The first man thrust a fist out, but the second dodged it, disengaging his lightsword. The two circled, eying the other warily. The second, taller man gave two quick jabs, causing electricity to spark. 

The first man deflected the jabs, an evil gleam fighting for recognition in his blue eyes. The second man stepped back, evaluated the other in a split second, then charged, lightsaber raised.

The first man dodged again, but his lightsaber came up in a cut aimed for the other's waist. Spotting the danger a split second in advance, the second man fell back from the lasersword, his own flying up to—barely—counter it. He fell, but had been prepared for that, and rolled quickly, disengaging his lightsaber so that he wouldn't do something unfortunate, like slice himself in half.

Coming up onto one knee, the second man brushed his dark hair out of his eyes, and gritted his teeth. "You'll have to better than that, Master," he remarked sweetly, eyes glinting.

The greying blonde didn't respond. _Foolish boy_, he thought to himself as the dark-haired _child_ raised himself to his feet. _You will never understand, will you? I taught you everything you know; I didn't teach you everything_ I _know._

The blonde lunged, and the other had to activate his lightsaber quickly to deflect the thrust. When the dark-haired man stumbled a little, the blonde pressed his attack, going after the other ruthlessly. Thrust—clumsy, but strong block; thrust—dodge; lunge—a flip over the other's head.

"You're losing your touch," the blonde mocked viciously as the other's lightsaber went flying from his hands. "Keeping track of slaves is dulling you." He kicked the other in the chest, causing the dark-haired man to topple down the stairs.

"Perhaps," the second grunted, rolling onto one knee, then standing quickly. His lightsaber flew into his hand; he jumped up the stairs, blocked the other's thrust, flipped over his master's head, and swung his lightsaber so it was in line with the blonde's neck. "Or perhaps it has honed my skills."

Brakiss' face was a mask as he half-nodded and moved out of range of Onyx's red lightsaber. "_Perhaps_," he allowed, inscrutable.

The Emperor caught his Darkest Knight's self-satisfied smirk through narrowed eyes. The boy was getting much too cocky, too defiant; that would have to be stopped. "I have trained you for five years, young Onyx." He eyed the dark-haired man carefully. "What have you to say about your skill level as a Sith?"

Onyx clipped his lightsaber to his belt with special care, schooling his expression into a mask of the perfect student. He couldn't, however, keep the eagerness out of his voice. "I am ready for the trials, Master."

"Are you?" Brakiss snapped, his blue eyes flaring with anger at the blatant confirmation of his suspicions. So, the impudent brat was getting ambitious, was he? After all Brakiss had done for him?

Onyx's green eyes met the blue orbs of his master calmly but hidden within Onyx's serenity lay mockery. "Yes, I am. _Master_."

Brakiss paused and forced his fury back; it was a useful skill when surrounded by beings that allowed themselves to be ruled by anger. Annoying, but useful. "No," he said finally, "you hold onto who you once were—Jedi Solo is proof of that."

_Are you sure it's the past I hold onto when I put her in a position to hate you?_ Onyx wondered silently. He would never voice the taunt, though; he didn't know the answer himself. "Jedi Solo is a slave and a potential ally—nothing more."

Brakiss looked at his apprentice's steely eyes and knew he had struck a nerve—but which one, and how closely, he couldn't figure out. "Perhaps." He turned to leave.

"I _will_ become a Lord of the Sith," Onyx bit out, halting his master's exit.

Brakiss' hand thrust forward as he spun around. Dark electricity streamed through his fingers and into the Sith apprentice.

"We will see."

* * *

Hearing the door swish open, Jaina looked up, expecting and finding Onyx—but definitely not in the condition she had expected. She let herself fall back onto the floor and out of the leg stretches her 'therapist' (_slave driver_) had assigned her. "What happened to _you_?" she asked wonderingly. 

He attempted to open his eyes properly, but stopped when fire erupted on the wound that covered his left eye, causing him to stumble and bump into a lamp. "Training," he grunted, making his way to the hovercouch. As Jaina watched anxiously, he lowered himself onto the cushioned seat with the utmost care and an expression of pain.

"And here I thought being a Jedi was painful," she remarked dryly, glancing down at her legs.

He groaned and held the side of his head. "Please, either get the med-pac or continue your therapy in silence," he muttered.

She rolled her eyes and arranged her hoverchair so that she could pull herself into it. With a fluid movement that spoke of many repetitions, she manoeuvred herself into the contraption and left the room. The med-kit was in the kitchen, next to the control panel for her Force collar. She paused a moment, then picked it up, regarding it carefully. It would be so simple, so incredibly easy to deactivate it, but for one small glitch—

(_"This is the control panel. The slave will be unable to use it. It is set to self-destruct if she is foolish enough to try."_)

She glared at the contraption, hating a machine and would-be tinker-object for perhaps the first time in her life. She imagined crushing it, slamming it against the counter again and again until it shattered in her hands. But she didn't.

She could almost hear Garik saying, "For once in your life, Solo, use your head before you act." She rarely heeded his exasperated pleas—thinking too much, especially during war, often led her thoughts down a nightmare path and only served to make her freeze at a crucial moment. Considering, however, that _Garik_, with his constant thinking, had not once been arrested and/or enslaved by the Empire, there could be no harm in listening to him this once, right? And it wasn't like she'd ever have to tell him if it worked…

Her grip on the control device tightened for a moment as she considered it. _C'mon Solo, practice the logic side of your brain. Hey, Garik uses it all the time and_ he's _alive and well. Er, if you don't count his spaz attacks over the littlest things. Honestly, he took that whole toothpaste-in-the-hair-gel prank thing far too seriously._

What if the collar was set to self-destruct if she so much as touched the wiring and the thing blew her head off? Or—worse—what if the technician had set a planet to be destroyed if this so much as blipped wrong? Considering the influence her release could have over some key members of the New Republic, she wouldn't be (completely) surprised. But wouldn't they tell her if they did that? Or did they want something to rub in her face, to make her feel guilty? They wouldn't tell her then, she guessed.

_Okay, hating thought…_

She forced her hoverchair to 180 (not nearly as defiant as turning on her heel, but that was kinda out, if for just a few more days, along with stomping and jumping up and down…). When Onyx looked up at the _whizz_ of her chair, she held up the control panel for her Force-suppressor. "Turn this blasted thing off and I'll heal you, no complaints."

He considered her for a moment, then sighed heavily. "Give me the med-kit, Jaina."

She scowled and threw it at him, looking away pointedly before seeing where it hit him, but hoping he'd have another bruise from it. "Fine."

There was a _hiss_ and suddenly a bright blue energy field surrounded the room. "Now you can give me that blasted panel," Onyx said easily. "Only—don't throw it; you might break it, and explosives are hell and a thousand credits to get out of the carpet."

She had not really anticipated an agreement on his part; even now, she half expected him to maximize the Force muffler, or twist the "More Pain" knob. Hesitantly, she handed the panel to him. He pressed a series of buttons and instantly she felt the warmth—the completeness—of the Force fill her. She ignored her confusion for a moment. Instinctively, she relaxed, more confident and safe now that she could feel the energy field that had been there throughout her life, unless taken by force.

When her eyes opened, Onyx was watching her with a pleased expression. A little of her happiness disappeared into her wariness and realization. "Oh, I get it now," she said with a hint of disgust.

"Get what?" Onyx asked innocently. "By the way, if you weren't joking about healing me…"

She rolled over to him and focused on the Force, felt its golden waves sweep over her; she channelled the energy into Onyx. She saw him jump a little; he was not used to the warmth of the Light side. Even now, an odd—for a Sith apprentice—look appeared in his eyes and she knew he was feeling the headiness that came with Light side healing.

"I was wondering why you would disobey Brakiss for me," she said in reply to his question. Her eyes narrowed and for a moment the steady river of Force healing that was flowing into him flickered; she saw the loss in his eyes. "You're trying to confuse me again. Well, sorry, but I'm very aware you're not Zekk."

"Couldn't it just be from the very goodness of my heart?" queried Onyx, raising an eyebrow.

"Please. A Sith—helping someone? The Dark side is used for the so-called controller's power." Her sniff made it very clear just how ridiculous someone believing they could control the Dark side was, from her point of view.

"Not necessarily."

Jaina rolled her eyes. "Hey, been there, done that, bought the Dark side T-shirt, remember? Selfishness is the closest thing to a core the Dark side has."

"And you came to that conclusion…how?"

"Simple. Why did I turn to the Dark side? Because of _my_ grief, because the war had finally taken too many people from _me_. Throughout my little traipse I was only thinking, _me, me, me_. It was almost annoying, honestly."

"A princess is hardly the most convincing example," Onyx sneered.

"Why did you—well, Zekk—turn? Because _he_ felt inadequate, because he felt the need to _prove himself_.

"Your cheek bone is smashed," she continued. "Now how did Brakiss manage that? Wouldn't he break a hip or something if he moved quickly enough to cause damage?"

"And I suppose the Light side," Onyx mocked, "is all about selflessness?"

"Oh." She paused, a little put off. "I didn't spend as much time thinking about that." She considered that for a moment. She was not very good at putting her thoughts into words—Garik had always been so much better at that. Kriff, put that way, she could almost see her friend being captured as good for Empire-Rebellion relations… In any case, _he_ wouldn't have any trouble talking people back to the Light. Maybe she should suggest that at the next meeting she survived to go to… "Well," she said slowly, measuring her words, "it's probably closer to the love of justice—Kyp can explain that so much better than me—"

"'Can'?" Onyx echoed curiously.

Jaina hurried on, ignoring her slip of the tongue. "But it—the Light side, that is—might even be just embracing the galaxy with…" and here she hesitated… "love."

"Really," he drawled. "And I suppose that's why you're still a Jedi? Why you're still clinging to your pathetic Light? _Love_? What if I told you that if your friends and family really cared, you'd have escaped by now?"

She placed some bacta gel on a remaining burn that covered his left arm, and began to smooth it along the rough skin. Slowly, his pain began to drift away; she could see it in his eyes. "Then I would tell you," she said steadily, "that I am not dependent on their love for me; I am what I am because I couldn't deny my love for _them_—_that_ is what saved me." She raised her eyes to his; her grin was crooked. "Besides, who says I don't have potential allies in the Palace, just waiting to be released from their self-made prison?"

For a long moment, they stared at each other, locked in a silent argument. It ended when Onyx reactivated the Force suppressor. Jaina shuddered, and slumped into his arms, exhausted from the sudden loss.

But who was the victor?

_

* * *

Beep-beep…fzz-chut…beep…clackety-clack…beep-beep-beep…_

Miko woke with a jolt.

He remained still for a moment, using the Force to take in his surroundings. When he didn't sense anything, his eyes flicked up to the alarm system he had installed. The intrusion-detector was still blinking steadily—no one had attempted to sneak in.

Warily, he fell back into the bed. _It's nerves, that's all_, he thought. _The call hasn't come yet; won't for another hour._

_Beep-beep…fzz-chut…beep…_

That tone sounded quite like… _Sith! They're early!_ When he tried to get out of his bed, Miko got tangled in the sheets and tripped getting out of bed, landing with a _thwump_. Rolling his eyes in impatience, he stood and walked to his desk. Once more he glanced around, searching for anyone who might be watching. You never could be sure in the Imperial Palace, and Miko couldn't afford to get caught yet.

As satisfied as he could be that no one was listening, the twice-over traitor slid a panel open and punched in a series of characters. There was a soft _thwip_, and the panel did a 245 and raised about ten centimetres from the desk surface. A red copy of the Basic keyboard appeared on the smooth black desktop and Miko took a seat. He retrieved a pair of glasses from a cylinder case on his left. When he pushed a button on the side of the frames and put the glasses on, blue tinted his outlook.

**Judas.**

The name was waiting on Miko's screen. When he pressed the ENTER key, it disappeared in acknowledgement. Miko's fingers hit the sensor-reading keyboard softly. **This is Judas.** He did not bother to ask who was on the other end—he would not get an answer. That was too dangerous.

**It has been a long time, Brother. We have so much to do.**

The words blinked eleven times, then disappeared.

Eleven.

Miko thought carefully before replying. **I will see you soon, I hope?**

**Very soon; you will not be grounded much longer.** This time, the message blinked ten times before disappearing.

Ten.

_Keep talking_, Miko thought, forcing his breathing to stay regular. It was too bad he had not yet gotten used to the danger in this field. _It'll be over soon, one way or another_, he reminded himself. **How is Mother?**

**She is well, though a recent illness has made her slightly weak. She will come release you with all she has. It won't be much longer now.** This time, the message rested on the screen for ten seconds, not blinking, then disappeared.

Zero. Space?

Miko's heart sped up. Not much longer? He wanted to jot down the code, but didn't. Someone could find it. **Should I pack anything? Or will you bring it all?**

A pause. For a horrifying moment, Miko wondered if this was being traced, if his "brother" had been found and s/he was cutting the line. _No! Not when we're this close!_ Finally, new words appeared. **Bring nothing, but be sure to leave a thank-you gift for your hosts. In case you forgot to buy one, Mother has left one for you in the usual place. Don't forget to eat your vegetables.** Eight blinks.

Eight!

**Please thank her for me, and tell her that I will make her proud.** Miko's eyes closed for a moment in relief, then opened them again, just in time to catch the last message:

**You can tell her yourself, Brother. If all works out well, you will be home in time for supper.** The message faded; it did not blink or simply disappear. End of code.

_Eleven-Ten-Zero-Eight…that means…Eleventh month, tenth day, 0800…_

_Kriff! That's…four days from now!_

**

* * *

(Day One)**

Sanar slipped into Onyx's quarters as quietly as she could. One of the other girls had been sick and Sanar had been called down to help the child. Sanar was not a medic by any means, but life had prepared her better than it had most of the dancers and/or pleasure slaves.

The dimmed lighting made her squint a little, but she quickly became used to it—she always did. Reflexively, she checked the room for other beings. She found one and…the imprint of one, clearly Onyx. She'd have to go before he returned. The other—Solo—was asleep on the couch. Sanar wouldn't get any trouble from her.

When the Na'Lein'yhpaon native passed the couch, there was a small whimper. Sanar paused, then turned to look at the Jedi girl with her face. In the uncertain light, Solo's face looked haunted, vulnerable, and very, very young.

_Too young,_ Sanar thought suddenly with a frown. _Twenty, at most, and she's probably been fighting for the whole war. What is she doing here? Why does she stay? Surely_ _almost anything_ _is better than slavery to a Sith lord who is obsessed with you. And I don't care what people say about heroes and the Jedi_—_joining a war at fifteen cannot be justified._

Sanar rubbed her arms, trying to fight off the draft that was creeping in from the open window. Spotting a nearby blanket, she began to wrap it around her shoulders. As if on cue, Solo cried out and curled into a foetal position (_apparently her surgery was successful_), reminding Sanar of Clayra.

_Clayra,_ Sanar thought, the darkness allowing her the freedom to feel the shuttled-aside heartache. It had been a long time since she had seen her younger sister. She wondered, with a shuddering breath, if Clayra was still well. Sanar was quite sure she would have felt it if her sister had been seriously hurt, but with Clayra's position and her mother's obliviousness….

She slid the blanket off and placed it over the Jedi, tucking the edges in so that they hugged the girl more securely. When Solo continued to move restlessly, clearly in the throes of a nightmare, a lullaby she had often sung to Clayra spilled softly from Sanar's lips.

"_Hush my dear  
Please don't cry  
Know I'm here  
And I watch after you_"

Solo was still, apparently soothed, and Sanar continued on, encouraged.

"_Let your entry to the land of dreams  
Let me carry your troubles for a while  
Sleep well, sleep long  
Forget the darkness that surrounds you  
If only for a while  
Wave to the angels for me, my dear  
Remind them that I am still here  
Give my love to the fairies  
Who cannot understand  
This universe that tears itself apart.  
Dance with their young ones  
And though you've been forced to grow up so fast,  
Try, my love, to remember  
What it was to be young._"

Sanar didn't turn away from Solo, though she knew Onyx was watching her. Solo was not the only one who had been comforted by music. Sanar had first heard that lullaby when she was young—perhaps the same age Solo had been when the war started.

Once, music had been her only retreat when everything had closed in around her. When Sanar's singing began to remind Caesarea too much of Jarran, music had become forbidden. But Sanar's mother was not here and she would sleep better tonight than she had in years, soaking in the (albeit few) happy memories she had, even if Solo would not.

She ruffled that mop of brown hair, almost identical to her own chocolate locks, then turned and went to bed, locking the door behind her. If Onyx called after her, she did not hear him.

* * *

_She was running; he was close behind. She tried to find her way through the hallways and forests, but it was a maze of confusion. Every time she thought she had lost him, she found that she had only succeeded in dizzying herself and allowing him to come closer. In the background, the echo of a sweet lullaby contrasted sharply with the Darkness that surrounded her. She thought of attempting to reach it, but knew she could not._

_The farther she ran, the darker it grew. She became aware that the clouds were beginning to fill with water and that thunder rumbled. She turned once to see if she had lost him, and tripped. When she looked to see what she had fallen over, she was horrified to see a corpse, sliced in half, unmistakably by a lightsaber._

_She knew instinctively that it had been a blood red lightsaber_—_one that had been held at her own throat, once, only to be lowered…_

_She jumped to her feet and ran even faster, but now there were more of them. All of them cut down by that same lightsaber. Still she flew, trying to escape him, trying to escape the truth._

_A hand grabbed her arm and twisted her around. She shrank back reflexively, expecting to see her pursuer. She sighed in relief. It wasn't him._

_"Jaina," the person said._

_She tried to tug her arm away from the man, but his grip only tightened. "Let me go," she pleaded. "I have to get away from him…"_

_"He already has you."_

_She stared, afraid. "What?"_

_"He has you; just like he got me. It won't be long now."_

_"Just like he got…"_

_"Your fault, Jaina."_

_She pulled even harder now, wanting nothing more than to run and run until she had left everything behind. "Please let me go! If he catches me…"_

_She could hear his footsteps now. He was not running; he was playing with her._

_"Why did you let it go, Jaina? Why did I have to pay for your mistake?" The man shoved his face right into Jaina's._

_He smelled; she knew that his was the stink of decay, of death._ Oh stars, oh stars, oh stars… _She shoved him with all her strength, then she was sprinting again. Her fear gave her speed._

_Lightning flashed, then her former master was in front of her, red hair blown every which way by the wind, forming a devilish halo. "Solo," Mara said sternly, eyes narrowed._

_Jaina almost threw herself into her aunt's arms, but stopped when she saw the blood and the missing right arm. Instead, she dodged her aunt's arms with her hands over her ears, already knowing what her master would say._

Failure. Traitor. How can you love the one who killed us all?

_Again she passed people she had known_—_Raynar__, Corran, Tionne, even Streen, then…_

_"Anakin," she said miserably, ready to give up. She had come to a dead end; of course, the dead had been leading her to her execution._

Why, Jaina? Couldn't you see?

_When she looked back, she could see his shadow chasing her. All around there was the impenetrable darkness; she could barely see a foot in front of her, and the Dark was closing in, tightening Its grip. If she took a few steps in the wrong direction, she would be lost. Thunder roared. One, two_—_lightning. It was not far._

_Not long now._

_"Tell Tenel Ka I love her?" Jacen asked mournfully, appearing to her left._

_She opened her mouth, but no words came_—_only a helpless moan. "Jasa…oh Force…I'm sorry…"_

_"You swore," Anakin said, as impassively as if she was only a stranger he had seen on the street. "You swore on Jacen's life, on my grave_—_you swore you wouldn't turn again."_

_"I_—_I didn't," she whispered, stepping forward and away from them. She didn't go far; the Darkness was too cold._

_"You won't get lost," Anakin said bitterly when he saw her eye the blanket of Darkness. "Walk further in and you'll see the real ledge. It's several metres in front of you."_

_She winced at his tone; so bitter; he had been like this ever since…_

_"Why did Tahiri have to die?" he demanded, tears pooling in his eyes. _For you._ His eyes finished the accusation._ All your fault.

_A flinch passed over her face and she looked down. She knew that her little brother did not mean that. He would never have accused her of being the one to cause Tahiri's death._

_But she had helped, however unwittingly._

_When she looked up and over her shoulder, _he_ was there, clad all in black, his red lightsaber glaring in contrast. A few strands of his black hair had escaped, and were whipping against his chiselled features. With his Darkness and his fair features, he looked like an angel of death._

_She felt the weight of the war fall onto her; every loss she knew was piled onto her now._

_This was it._

_She took a step back; lightning flashed down between them, charring the ground, and then he was there, cupping her cheek. "Jaina," he smirked victoriously. "You are mine now. At last."_

_She pulled away before his lips met hers. "Zekk…"_

_His eyes narrowed. "I am not he. I never have been. It was all been a lie…always. Zekk was all a lie, Jaina." His smirk grew at her horror._

_"No," she sobbed, stepping back again. "Zekk, stop this_—_please, you said you love me, I know you meant it…"_

_"Oh, but I do love you," Onyx said, almost mockingly. "Why not? You're pretty enough."_

_She shuddered and wanted to cover her ears, but found she couldn't._ This isn't Zekk; it's _not_. Zekk would never say these things…and he _does_ exist, no matter what Onyx says…he can come back…he has to…

_She continued to back up, avoiding Anakin's accusing ice eyes, Jacen's mournful brown, Onyx's mocking green._

_She screamed as she tripped and fell down…down into the abyss…_

* * *

When Jaina emitted a soft moan from the couch, Onyx looked from the report he had been reading, a frown of concern creeping onto his face, whether he was aware of it or not. He had not expected her to sleep this long; that medical research/doctor team—Wilfip & Frappin (was it just him, or did that sound a sithuva lot more like a caf shop than a medical team?)—had better hope that the need for extra sleep was quite normal. 

It had been almost ten hours since her late-night surgery. The doctor had warned Onyx that, because the delicate operation was meant to fine-tune the undoing of her paralysis and encourage her muscles back to their old strength, the Jedi would be exhausted. However, it would only be a few more days before she was back to normal.

_And then no more Fel_, Onyx thought a little smugly. He would be more than pleased when the Chiss colonel was gone; something about the stern man whispered "enemy" and Onyx had learned to trust his instincts.

"Lemmgo…" Jaina mumbled, distress marring her pretty face

Sighing, Onyx turned back to the reports some of his agents had written up. Brakiss was growing weak, clumsy—even dull. That never boded well for an emperor with an ambitious apprentice. The Empire was fragmented and, thanks to some carefully planned rescues and price manipulations, key factors—especially the poor, abused public—were looking to Onyx for leadership.

As emperor, Onyx would be able to turn Solo as he had been unable to as Brakiss' puppet. Until then, Solo and her apparent sleeping trouble would have to wait. It would not be much longer…

A wave of misery swept over him, so strong that he dropped the datapad. "Anakin…!"

Onyx forced his shielding back up, wondering why Jaina's emotions were so obvious to him. Always before she had kept her shields to maximum strength. Unless the Force was supplying him with helpful information for her Turning?

He only lingered on his questions for a moment, though. She had said her brother's name—the younger one, whom Onyx had killed. He inwardly winced at the memory. Anakin wasn't supposed to die—not in front of Solo and most certainly not by Onyx's hand. Unfortunately, the younger Solo had been the one gifted with the ability of unknotting puzzles. Somehow he had known that Onyx meant to use him against Solo, and he hadn't dodged a sweep of Onyx's red lightsaber. Onyx had expected the blow to be parried at the very least, and was unable to pull out in time.

So, Solo still dreamed about Anakin's death. It was unfortunate—especially since his face was associated with her nightmares—but wasn't that what sent her tumbling into Darkness? He listened more carefully now, hoping to find the key to her resistance.

Jaina appeared to be trying to shrink into the couch. "Zekk…nnoooh…donth…"

Onyx leaned forward, inwardly seething. Why did it always come back to Zekk? Always!

She became still smaller, and her hands covered her face. Her voice became muffled, but her emotional pain was leaking into the Force. "…_said_ you…mennit…"

When she screamed in fear, Onyx snapped back. The shriek withered in despair.

He hesitated, then shook her shoulder gently. "Solo—wake up."

She bolted up on the couch, her eyes wide with panic and blurred by tears. "No!" she despaired, burying her face, unexpectedly, in Onyx's shoulder. "He—he was going to—to—" she hiccupped.

He stared, frozen, then slowly hugged her, an unusual feeling creeping into him. It reminded him vaguely of the sensation the strands of Light healing had built in his blood—fiery, almost scalding, yet somehow comforting and like an ecstasy drug. How did Jedi live with that contradiction?

"It's all right," he whispered awkwardly, patting her back. "Don't worry; I won't let him hurt you."

It was the oddest moment in his life—no doubt about that.

**

* * *

(Day Two)**

Sanar was brushing her hair when he showed up again. She ignored his presence but watched him by way of minute flicks of her eyes up to the mirror before her. He was pacing back and forth, from the couch to the dresser; vaguely, she wondered what the Confrontation of the Day was.

The reality of the new room added to her gloom. It was small—practically a closet—and the only bed was the couch, but Sanar had claimed it after the other night's beating. Her pride was a small thing, and she had gotten over it many, many times before in her life. Her temper, however, had almost been the end of her, and she was not taking any chances.

Horaire had been a mistake, no matter how much he deserved death. Sanar wouldn't—couldn't—cross that line again, and certainly not over anything as stupid as a beating. Horaire had had to threaten Clayra before Sanar tipped; away from Na'Lein'yhpaon, there was no little sister to hold over her, and no excuse for her to snap.

"Why did you let him do it?" Durron demanded suddenly, finding his voice at last.

She paused, blinked away the memories, then continued to pull the brush through her thick locks. "You mean Onyx?"

"Of course I mean Onyx," he snapped. "Unless, of course, this is a regular occurrence. In which case, I'm sure you can see how I would revise that query."

Her jaw tightened and sparks began to course through her blood. "Odd that you should say that; it _has_ been strangely common since my father's murder," she murmured pointedly.

Sanar's mother post-breakdown had told her eldest daughter that she was full of hatred and anger. _"You hurt only yourself when you cling to the past, Sanar. Your father is gone. We have the Order now._" It was one of the many times that Sanar could have slapped her mother. Full of hate! Of course she was! And as if Caesarea was the one to talk, with her dolls and her needles and her cursing. Even in sleep, Sanar's mother planned murder.

_Full of hate indeed._

Kyp was speaking again and Sanar tried to focus, but it was difficult. The topic of her mother was loaded—she'd be wise to push it to the back of her mind again.

"You just _let_ him!"

"Being beaten is hardly the worst that could happen," Sanar replied flippantly. She was prepared, this time, for the flood of memories. _Definitely not the worst. Oh, the stories I could tell you, Durron…_

He stared at her, aghast. "But to let it happen without a fight…without any attempts to push him back… It was as if you _wanted_ it!"

Had she? Perhaps; she was increasingly aware that she liked to shove reality down her own throat. Reality brought the hatred back, and the hatred and anger were all the ammunition she had against the pain and shame.

Slowly, she placed the brush onto the bureau. "In case you hadn't noticed, Onyx is stronger than I am, _and_ abuse is what I am used to. I know it, I accept it. Better me than…someone else," she finished, muttering.

"But—"

"Look, it's _my_ life," she snapped, spinning to glare at him, his reflection suddenly insufficient. "Why do you care, anyway?" When he began to reply, she stomped her foot, wanting something to kick, something to _scream_ at, when that sithing vulnerability crept over her, making her want, just for a moment, to feel her father's arms close around her again. It was a constant desire; one she had grown up with, and she wished she was used to it. But she never was; there was still something that gnawed at her, something that ate her up greedily, wanting never to release her.

"I'm no one's charity case. If you want someone to pity—someone to adopt—go talk to my mother. _She_ can barely get dressed in the morning these days, let alone live! She just…sits there…as useless as a worm, just pricking needles into a little doll and humming her wedding song!"

She knew instantly that she had spilled too much—if she had a credit for every time she stuck her foot in her mouth, she'd be rich. Her temper, her tongue, and her emotions—they were always her downfall, ready to force her into oblivion.

Durron's eyes softened in sympathy and understanding. "How did you manage without parents?" he asked softly.

Her eyes narrowed. "Shut up."

"How old were you, when it happened?" he continued, lost in his thoughts, ignoring or missing her anger. "Ten? Twelve?"

"I said _shut up_." She threw the hairbrush at him and was infuriated to see it pass through the blue man.

"Sanar—"

She stomped over to him and glared with every bit of the considerable hatred she had—whether it was for him or not. "Shut up, Durron, or Solo kicks the can."

He eyed her carefully. "You wouldn't do that," he said, just a little uncertain.

"No?" she returned easily, a smirk finding its way onto her visage. This was much better; she was comfortable with this, letting people believe she was something she was not. She would not let him unbalance her. She was the daughter of Jarran Klis, the rebel who lasted so long against Na'Lein'yhpaon's bigotry and hypocrisy. Acting and lying were in her blood.

"Don't push me," she warned, her eyes narrowing. The expression and aura of danger she was emitting were instinctive; it was so easy…_too_ easy?…to complete the role needed. "Horaire made that mistake and he's dead."

Durron frowned, began to speak, then seemed to decide against pursuing that line of conversation. She hid her smirk; they were all so predictable.

It was all too easy.

Her triumph dimmed and her gut clenched. Purposely, she unknotted it, ignoring it, pushing it back…like always.

Always the same; just the routine… It was all she knew. Long gone were the days she sat, enchanted, at her father's feet, drowning herself in the rich, magical worlds his voice brought to life.

"Why is Solo here?" she asked abruptly, turning a keen gaze on the Jedi.

Durron's lips tightened as he considered her. "She is a Jedi; she was captured and enslaved by the Empire."

Sanar scowled impatiently. "I know _that_. Why is _she_ here, with Onyx?"

"Onyx is attempting to Turn her."

"But why?" she persisted stubbornly. "Why _her_? Surely there are more powerful—more desirable—more willing Jedi out there."

"Onyx and Jaina have a…history…together," Durron said evasively. "I'm not really the one to explain."

"What, were they lovers?" she asked bluntly.

He sighed. "It's not really my place…"

"Tell someone who cares," she snapped. "I'm not blind, you know—there's some freaky connection between them. It's not as bright as the first night I saw them, but I've never seen…" She trailed off and shook her head.

Durron was quiet for a moment then, carefully, "I really don't know that much. Jaina doesn't like talking about it, and the others were either disgusted or trying to protect her." He hesitated another second, then pushed on. "From what I figure, Jaina knew Onyx before he turned. However, hanging around with the daughter of the Chief of State—a former princess, no less—and one directly related to three of the most famous 'Rebel' heroes…" He shrugged. "Onyx started to feel inadequate. You probably know the rest. As for why she's here…well, she never did give up on him."

Sanar snorted sarcastically. "Let me guess, she thinks her friendship will make everything better." She knew he was lying, hiding things, but she'd find out later—from Solo herself, if need be.

Durron's eyes flicked onto her face and under his stare she grew a little uncomfortable. She shifted, then sat down and crossed her arms across her chest and her legs. "She has a better chance that anyone else," he said finally, quietly.

She studied her nails with practiced indifference. "I gave up on redemption a long time ago," she said nonchalantly. "Solo's wasting her time."

"Everyone has a shot at redemption, Sanar; you just have to reach out and grab it, before it's gone. Remember that."

He was gone again, but she could have sworn she felt someone's lips press against her forehead, as if in benediction.

She tried to ignore that.

**

* * *

(Day Three)**

Jaina was supposed to be "exercising" (some dance-like, flexible-ish positioning thing called "yoga") but she had forgone that for the window. Some blessed, enlightened being had decided that it was going to snow today, and had set the climate controls appropriately. According to the holo-net, the weather would change in one hour and thirteen minutes.

Although the Jedi knew she would see no significant change until the snow was actually dumped onto the one-city planet, she searched the sky for even one snowflake. Maybe, she thought, in an hour, she'd be able to reach out and feel the little flakes fall on her arm. She looked out the window, then up, and noticed that the roof didn't slant too far over.

She'd be able to feel the snow. Good. A tired smile tried to find its way onto her face, but failed. It had been two months—_two months_—since she went outside. It was a long, miserable time for someone who had spent several years on a jungle planet, and who thrived on the sun(s) or even just the littlest smidgeon of rain.

Technically, the window wasn't supposed to be open. Technically, there had been a screen covering it and keeping her from reaching out, or escaping or something. Technically, Onyx liked the drapes closed.

Technically, she didn't give a frelling bantha.

Sanar had exited Onyx's quarters a short while ago, pausing for a moment to scrutinize Jaina. She hadn't said anything, but she left the Jedi feeling like a specimen. It wasn't a pleasant feeling.

Something told her that Sanar had approved of Jaina punching the screen out and opening the drapes (all of them, in case anyone cared—if nothing else, it might annoy Onyx). Jaina didn't bother trying to figure that out. Sanar was confuzzling, and gave Jaina a headache. Just when she pinned the slave as a selfish mercenary bitch, the woman would put a blanket over her and sing a lullaby.

At least, Jaina assumed it was Sanar who had done that—Jaina herself wasn't creative to make up lyrics for a lullaby in her dream (especially not after some of the things she'd seen) and Onyx probably wouldn't have covered her up. After all, it wasn't as if he cared about her.

No, definitely not, no matter how weird he was getting. And some of the odd moments where he would look at her almost…well, lovingly…those were just times when her imagination got the better of her. Again. But still…

She rolled her eyes. _As if. I mean, 'cause a big bad Sith lord would look at someone 'lovingly'. Ha! That's the best joke I've made since the war started. Maybe I should consider being a flipping Fruit Loaps comedian…_

"Thinking heavy thoughts, Jaya?" a voice asked. "Now, what's this, you've opened the drapes? And what did you do to the screens…" Onyx groaned. "Those were imported from Chiss space, you know."

She didn't turn around. "So use Brakiss' account and pay for some new ones. Then I'll punch _those_ out over and over again until your pathetic 'emperor' is bankrupt." She smirked, knowing he'd catch it through the Force.

She half expected to feel his amusement but—nothing. She snorted quietly. _Well, yeah, the Force collar would take care of that_, she thought sarcastically. So, she had only her instincts. She knew some people who'd be majorly screwed right now, but, hey, her dad was Han Solo, right? She was the Queen of Gut Instincts.

"You're supposed to be exercising."

She scowled. "It's supposed to snow."

"Not for another hour or so."

"I know, but…well, it's kinda nice—looking outside, I mean. Even if I can't be out there myself," she said, her tone unwittingly pointed.

He was quiet for a long time and she looked up and over her shoulder. "You miss it," he noted, frowning a little.

She leaned into the crook where the window pane and the window sill met. "After two months, how could I not?" she retorted defensively.

He scrutinized her face for a moment, then looked at a datapad in his hand. "Very well. I have to go to market today anyway. After you finish exercising, we'll both go." He paused, then smirked. "How would you feel about duelling?"

She leapt to her feet, a heady mix of elation and anticipation swirling in her head. "With you?" She gave the trademark Solo grin. "You're on." Her gaze levelled on his. "But I can't do it with this collar on."

Once again the blue energy field _buzz_-ed around them.

Solo had left an opening by her hip; Onyx was careful to fight down a smirk, lest she see it and realize its cause. When she reached with her lightsaber, he let her bat his own to the left. He dodged, then brought his blade in a slanted cut for her exposed side. She saw it, too late to do anything save try to roll away from it.

His blade—on the training intensity setting and thus harmless…kind of—hit her harder than he had expected. When she went down, she gave a startled, strangled gasp and sprawled on the floor.

Giving the laser settings a furious glare, Onyx slowly crouched in front of her. _Idiot!_ he berated himself. _She just went through surgery_—_two in about as many weeks_—_and you're treating her like a normal opponent?_ "Solo?"

She groaned, then, in a motion faster than a blink, she aimed—and landed—a kick to his face. He was down for the count. "Both my masters would have skinned you alive for falling for that," she scoffed as she crab-walked back a few paces, then stood.

"No fair," he grumbled. "You've just gone through two surgeries for paralysis. I don't have the luxury of caution. What if something was wrong? You've accidentally paralysed yourself before."

Her smirk was almost vicious. "Here's a lesson the Empire never really learned: Under no circumstances should you underestimate the Solo/Skywalker clan. It's too 'potentially' dangerous."

He got to his feet slowly, his gaze sliding up her, scrutinizing her in the way he knew she hated. Her cheeks flushed and he felt a twinge—first of guilt, then annoyance. _Oh honestly, of all the times to get a conscience…_ he mentally grouched.

"No pulling punches, then," he remarked finally.

She brushed away a few strands of hair that had escaped her ponytail, then got into a defensive position, her lightsaber held tightly before her. "Don't tell me that'll cramp your style, Onyx? Since when do Sith ever play fair?" She rolled her eyes. "You, my friend, are _definitely_ going to lose this war."

He lunged, making her jump back and focus on defending herself. "Just shut up and fight," he said lightly, mockingly, using the technique that frustrated his so-called master.

They sparred for the better part of forty-five minutes before Onyx cornered Jaina, severely shortening her list of optional moves. For a moment, it seemed as if she would be able to detangle herself by ducking to a non-elbow-squeezing area, but Onyx remained low and well-grounded, ready to block her escape.

When she was forced to take an awkward stance to protect her left side, he used the Force to loosen her grip on her lightsaber (kept in a locked cabinet, just in case). Then, ignoring the rules of combat, he brought his own blade not on the violet laser, but on the handle of her blade, causing it to skitter across the room.

She looked up at him, grinning and breathing heavily, caught between him and the wall. He thought, with some satisfaction, that his idea had worked; her gloom had disappeared into the excitement of a hard duel. "Not bad," she remarked.

He stared at her. "Not bad at all," he whispered, then softly placed his mouth over hers. He felt her gasp, freeze, then respond to it—tentatively at first, then a little more confident. His own mind whirled with shock; he had not meant to kiss her and certainly not like this…not this sweetly. But _something_ had swelled up in him and propelled him forward until he _had_ to kiss her—needed to desperately, just once.

She sighed and leaned into him, a pliant weight that fit him just right. His hands slid up her arms and into her hair. Somehow, he knew, she felt the same ache he did…but did she recognize it? He couldn't. He _couldn't_.

If he'd known about this sweet, fierce ache before…

Suddenly, she pulled back, eyes wide, barely breathing. He froze, still drunk on the taste of something he had never known. As if in a dream, she reached up and pulled his hands out of her hair and away from her. She swallowed, looked away, looked at him, looked down.

"We should go before the…market…closes," she said finally, completely ignoring logic, before escaping to her room, using the search for her cloak as an excuse.

Onyx took a deep, shuddering breath, mind awhirl. Temporarily weakened by confusion, he slid down the wall into a crouch and let his head drop into his hands.

_What _was _that?_

* * *

There was eleven more minutes before it started snowing and Jaina was becoming impatient. At least, that was what she was trying to convince herself of—that she was only frustrated because of the wait for the snow. _It does not,_ she imagined mind-tricking herself, _have anything to do with how that duel ended. Nope. Nothing at all._

When her attempts to ignore the truth were unsuccessful, she sighed. _Maybe I should have paid more attention to Kyp when he tried to teach me this mind-trick stuff…_

"I didn't know you were interested in jewellery, Solo," Onyx remarked, breaking into her thoughts. "Would you like to make a purchase?"

She looked up at him, startled, then glanced back at the stand where they had stopped. "I—" She shook her head. "Sorry, I was just…thinking."

The vender—an elderly, leather-skinned humanoid woman covered in jewels—was not put off by Jaina's excuse. "Such a pretty girl," she admired, eyeing the Jedi carefully. "You'd wear rubies and gold like a queen, I think. Madame Riia has just the set!"

Before Jaina could protest, the elderly woman bustled to the other end of her closed-in hut and pulled a packet off one of the shelves. "Look," the woman said proudly, holding out a large, ornate medallion with busy designs.

Jaina laughed a little helplessly. "I'm not really a jewellery person," she tried.

The vender snapped her fingers, as if she had had the perfect idea. "Something smaller—eh? A pretty bracelet or…yes, just that!" She reached under the counter and pulled out a centimetre thick gold choker with small, star-shaped rubies as decoration. For a moment, Jaina faltered. She had seen her mother wear almost the exact same design once—far more ornate and too bulky for Jaina's taste, but this one…

The old woman appeared pleased with Jaina's reaction. "Very nice, eh? Just right for such a pretty girl." She turned to Onyx, a crafty gleam in her eyes. "T'would make such a perfect gift for a lover, sirrah, don't you think?"

Jaina hurried to correct the woman. "He is _not_ my—"

"How much?" Onyx interrupted.

Jaina cast him a frosty glare. "Don't tell me you're trying bribery now?"

Both he and the elderly woman ignored her. "Ninety-and-seven credits, sirrah," the vender said hurriedly. "Madame Riia sells her fine merchandise at such bargains, yes? Yes!"

Jaina scowled pointedly even as Onyx paid the old lady and requested a bag. "I'm not that easily bought," she muttered, catching the attention of "Madame Riia" once more.

"Madame Riia recognizes you," she said shrewdly.

_Perhaps you've seen me on the "MISSING" columns_, Jaina thought grouchily, fiddling with her collar (the one that had been forced on her)._Or on the holo-net, the thousands of times that the paparazzi bombarded my family? On Onyx's "WANTED" posters?_ "Maybe," she replied instead.

"Your name is Sanar?" Madame Riia demanded.

Jaina's eyes narrowed. "No; I'm—her half-sister," she lied quickly.

Onyx scrutinized her, but the heavily bejewelled Madame didn't notice. "Madame Riia wonders: Do you know where Sanar is?"

"Yes—I'm sharing quarters with her."

"Ah! Tell that girl, then, that her mother is on Coruscant, looking for her." Madame Riia hesitated. "Ehm…she didn't mention another daughter."

"We don't share the same mother," Jaina lied smoothly. "She doesn't like me very much."

Madame Riia clucked disapprovingly. "Well, you look young enough for a second marriage…" She studied Jaina carefully, then, "Tell Sanar to visit her poor mama—she'll know where, I believe?"

"Of course," Jaina replied, memorizing the vender's address, in case Sanar didn't. "I'll be sure to tell her." She paused. "Thank you for the information; I'm sure my sister will be glad for the news. I trust her mother is well?" Jaina didn't want to be the bearer of bad news.

Madame Riia snorted scornfully and hitched up her bulky, many layers skirt importantly. "Women like that—the poor ma'am looked ready to be blown clear off the street, she did. Her escort practically carried her around. But what can ye' expect from such fragile lasses?"

Jaina hid her frown. "What indeed?"

Onyx cut in impatiently. "We need to go, Solo."

Madame Riia looked taken aback that someone would wish to leave her fascinating company, but she shrugged it off. "Don't ye forget, luvy – Madame Riia has plenty of such pieces, for all occasions," she ordered Jaina. "That's Madame _Riia_."

Jaina nodded faintly and then followed Onyx. "Sucking up is not going to help you," she grumbled when they were out of the eccentric lady's earshot.

He ignored her. "Stay in this area," he commanded sharply. "I need to speak with someone." He walked off at a brisk pace.

The young Jedi rolled her eyes, stuck her tongue out at his back, then went back to her dawdling in the streets.

A pawn kiosk caught her eye and she urged her hover-chair towards it. If nothing else, it would be nice to imagine which parts she could buy and put together…

"_Jaina Solo!_" An astonished voice was her only warning before someone caught her elbow.

Surprised, she looked up into the face of Kyp's former apprentice. Reflexively, her face contorted in anger and disgust. "Miko," she spat. "It's been far too little time. Killed any Jedi lately?"

He didn't seem to hear her. "What are you doing here? And with that…" He froze. "Why are you wearing that collar?"

"What, you don't think it's the greatest accessory since the hydrospanner? Why do you _think_ I'm wearing it?" she snapped, jerking her elbow out of his grasp and moving back a little so that she could glare at his face without craning her neck too far back. "Onyx found me; apparently, his little obsession hasn't kicked the can yet. Don't tell me your _master_ didn't tell you?"

Miko's blue eyes studied her worriedly. "You're staying at the palace?" he asked weakly.

"No, I'm just on vacation; Onyx gave me this little TIE fighter so that I can prance around the galaxy; next stop, Gallinore," she replied coldly.

He glanced around, searching for something. "Where's Onyx?"

She scowled. "Over there—by the pots and pans vender." She jerked her head in the Sith apprentice's direction, who was in a deep conversation with a shady looking character.

Miko ushered her to a slightly more secluded area. "Listen to me, Jaina—_get out of the Palace_. I don't care how you do it, just don't be in there tomorrow morning."

She frowned at him. "Do you really think I'm going to listen to _you_, traitor?"

He leaned in closer and she steamed at his proximity. "Look, Jaina, I don't expect you to trust me, but for Kyp's sake, I hope you'll heed my warning." He paused, then lowered his voice until it was just the shadow of a whisper. "The Rebels are going to attack tomorrow morning, at eight-hundred-hours. I've been working with them for almost a year now as a double agent. Believe me, the Palace is the last place you want to be—there will be no end to the fighting, if things go our way. I don't want your blood on my hands, for Kyp's sake."

Jaina glared at him. "For the sake of the master you betrayed, you mean? I worked for Intelligence, Miko; your name was never on the lists."

"For someone who survived five years of war, you're pretty naïve," he retorted. "Do you honestly think they would tell you every double agent on the field?"

"I'm a Jedi," she said with a scowl. "I have to know who I can and cannot kill. I assure you, there _was_ a list—at least, before the Jedi Order went to pieces."

"You must have been pretty high up to have access to that kind of information," Miko mused, distracted for a moment.

"No—just had a hacker for a friend," Jaina snarled. "And stick to the subject. _Why_ the Sith should I believe you, after everything?"

"What's the worst that could come of you listening to me, Jaina?" he replied, a little angry now. "I'm not asking where you'll go—if you leave, and there's no attack, so what? You'd still be alive. But what if everything I'm saying is true, and you stay? You'll probably be blown into the afterlife."

"'There is no death, there is the Force,' " she retorted darkly, crossing her arms over her chest.

"Maybe, but there's also a kriffing lot of pain first," he replied in a furious whisper. He sighed in frustration and placed one hand on each side of her hover-chair, leaning in toward her, his face tight with barely controlled anger and tension. "I swear to you, Jaina, on everything I've ever believed in—everything _you've_ worked and killed for—that I'm telling the truth. Please," for a second, his voice faltered, "don't let me find your body in the wreckage of the attack."

She stared at him carefully, evaluating his countenance and sincerity. After a moment, she looked down. "I don't know if I can get out; I'm a slave, after all, and Onyx…"

Miko straightened once more, some of his tension gone. "Brakiss is constantly berating Onyx for the power you hold over him; for once, _let Brakiss be right_. For your own sake, throw out the Jedi rule book and play dirty."

Her shoulders slumped and she glanced over at Onyx and his comrade; she nodded in their direction. "You should go; you don't want to be seen with me, even if you aren't a double agent."

Miko followed her stare and nodded briefly. "Remember, Jaina—humans are notorious for their love of survival; whatever it takes for our bodies to continue on, we are forced to endure. And those that are pushed down always have twice the strength to fight back. We have the advantage."

She eyed him cynically. "Is that why you came back?"

He didn't answer; when Onyx began to walk towards them, Miko was already gone.

As if in a fog, Jaina made her way onto the pawn shop. Snow began to fall and catch in her eyelashes and on her skin, but she barely even noticed.

_Whatever it takes? Oh, Miko_—_if you only knew what that could mean…_

* * *

Solo had been quiet during their trip back, and Onyx was becoming wholeheartedly sick of it. Between her silence and her furtive glances at him when she thought he wasn't looking, he was beginning to feel paranoid. 

When they passed a fitness centre one block above and away from the Palace, Solo finally spoke, to her companion's relief. "I was wondering…" she began slowly. "Your quarters are alright, I suppose, but they aren't really the greatest for the constant exercising I have to do."

"And you'd prefer a public gym?" he finished sceptically.

She shot him a sarcastic look and pointed at the building they were passing. "Unless things have _really_ changed around here, the N.T. Marak Centre—or whatever the Empire renamed it—is the least public area ever built."

Onyx considered her for a moment. "I'll think about it."

She snorted and _whizz_-ed into a turbo-lift, then turned around, waiting for him. "I only have, what, two days of therapy left? If that? I'm already duelling, as you know, and your brain isn't used to working on its own; you've been a lap dog too long." She smirked up at him. "C'mon Onyx, be bold—make a split second decision."

He fought down a scowl. She was playing on his pride. _Jedi_, he cursed. _What does she want? For that matter,_ why _does she want it?_ "Fine," he conceded at last. "But wait until tomorrow after breakfast; you've worked hard enough today." _And this might give me some more time to figure out what you're planning._

She nodded and, when he turned away to punch their destination into the turbo-lift controls, her shoulders slumped in relief. _I may not trust you, Miko,_ she thought fiercely, _but I've fought for far too long to be even potentially blown to bits when I'm so close._

* * *

When Jaina slipped under her new violet feather blanket (another "privilege" of joining the Empire), she was yet again aware of the sensation of fabric sliding along her legs. _Who knew,_ she thought dreamily, _that something so simple could fill me with so much happiness?_ Going from a ratty black sheet to a thick blanket would have been enough to brighten her day; going from being unable to sense anything at all, to feeling the soft heaviness of a blanket was heaven. 

She let out a soft, contented moan as she curled up in a ball and buried herself into her pillows. The springy mattresses embraced her form subtly, making her smile grow. _It's almost as good as being at home, before the war…_

The sound of a man and woman arguing broke the dreamy quality of the moment. Jaina groaned, then rolled out of bed and crept to the door. When she pushed a few buttons on a side panel, a small vid-screen appeared before her eyes and a light switched on. It took her only a moment to recognize the culprits.

_Onyx and Sanar. Jeez louiz, why does she stay, anyway?_ Jaina sighed, then opened the door. "Are you guys at it _again_?" she demanded. "Onyx, leave her alone."

He scowled at her. "Do you always accuse before discovering the facts?"

"Hey," the Jedi retorted. "My dad's Han Solo; what did you expect?" She glanced at Sanar. "You okay?"

If she had been expecting the "Special Deal, Just for You!" to be a lullaby _and_ a warm welcome, Jaina was sorely disappointed. "I don't need your help, Solo," the older woman snapped.

Jaina rolled her eyes. "Yeah, yeah, love you too. What's going on?"

She could see Sanar open her mouth to make a wisecrack, or say something along the lines of "get lost", but Onyx replied first. "Sanar was making a run for it."

"Can you blame her?" Jaina growled, putting her hands on her hips. "I know you beat her, Onyx; if I was her, I would have been gone two years ago."

"Well, she's not you, is she?"

"A fact you forget and remember at your convenience, you sick jerk," the Jedi replied furiously. "Just let her go."

"I am _not_ running off," Sanar interrupted.

"Well, your IQ just dropped fifty points in my book," Jaina muttered.

"Since when is it a crime to visit family?" the dancer continued. Her flashing eyes levelled on Jaina. "I _don't_ run."

The young Jedi turned incredulous eyes on the Sith. "This is about her wanting to see her mom? Onyx, you are _really_ dropping in the humanity column now—I mean, first beatings, now complete imprisonment? She's not your _pet_."

Onyx began to reply, then paused. Jaina could almost hear him thinking, "brownie points!" "It's dark out, girl," he finally said. "Wait until the morning; it will be safer then."

It was Sanar's turn to roll her eyes. "Please. Coruscant is nothing compared to my home planet."

"Nevertheless, you _will_ stay; is that understood?" Onyx gritted out.

Sanar sulked, but all three knew she had no choice. It would take only a word from Onyx and she'd be a goner—whether by way of death or exile to one of the seedy Outer Rim worlds that made Coruscant's underworld look like a child's playroom. "If you try to stop me tomorrow…" She trailed off warningly, and then marched into the walk-in closet that she had adopted as her room.

Onyx probably looked at Jaina for her reaction, but the Jedi didn't see it. Already she was headed back to her room and her wonderfully comfortable bed.

_And I am **not** going to feel guilty that I have an actual bed and Sanar doesn't!_ she reminded herself furiously as she burrowed into the blankets.

She was asleep long before Onyx entered the room; without the Force, she didn't even feel his conflicted eyes on her.

_

* * *

And I'd give up forever to touch you  
'Cause I know that you feel me somehow  
You're the closest to heaven that I'll  
ever be  
And I don't want to go home right now_

_And all I can taste is this moment  
And all I can breathe is your life  
'Cause sooner or later it's over  
I just don't want to miss you tonight  
_"Iris" by the Goo-Goo Dolls

(Onyx's POV)

I look at you, and I feel a wave of tenderness sweep over me. You're a Jedi; I'm a Sith apprentice. But when I look at you, my stomach tosses and I have the mad urge to protect you—from what? There's something wrong—something other than some discomfort from your surgeries—and you won't tell me even though, for once, I want to know what's wrong…and fix it, instead of add to it.

Why did I let you heal me with the Force? The Light side is pulling on me now, making me crave the warmth it filled me with. But I don't want that—it repulses as much as it entices. How can you stand living with _that_ flooding you all the time? How can you not? That warmth—was that the love you force yourself to view the galaxy with? Is that what you claim saved you?

Is that what you feel for Zekk?

I am a Sith apprentice and yet…all these doubts and sensations… How much of what you say about the Light side is true?

Why do I hate Fel so much for just looking at you? He has no chance—I know that—and he is miniscule. And yet I almost…envy him? Why? Because he has even a chance of caring for you, without feeling the Dark side ensnare him?

This isn't lust I'm feeling—but it can't be love, can it? Ah, perhaps Brakiss was right when he said keeping you was too dangerous. You, yourself, have hinted as much before. I'm beginning to wonder about what is outside all of this…outside of this joke called an empire. The lines between Zekk and Onyx are beginning to fade—I want to hold you, assure you, and make promises to you that one cannot take lightly.

And yet…the darkness within me gnaws it way deeper and deeper into my soul. Even if I decided to turn my back on everything, I would fall short. And you…you would turn away. I've seen the disgust on your face; why does it pain me? I have gotten past Zekk's love for you—haven't I?

Haven't I got past my own?

But no! That's nonsense! Love you? How could I? You were right when you said selfishness is at the core of the Dark side; it is impossible that I care about you in any way.

But if it's not love, then what? I've lived with "obsession" (as you call it) for years and this sensation isn't even close. Kriff, if I keep this up, I might be desperate enough to ask what's-her-face (Sarai, Plysa, Ganyr, what's the difference? They all blend into each other, after a while) what this whole thing could mean.

I _need_ to stifle this—need to stuff it away and diminish it, until it's naught but a bad memory.

But is it already too late?

No; I am _not_ going to let Brakiss be right. You are _not_ "too much for me to handle". Pah! Brakiss is an old fool who needs a holo-cloak to keep the masses happy. He knows nothing about matters of the hea—

I did _not_ just almost say "matters of the heart".

Arrrrgh…that's it; no more watching you; I'm going to bed. And if I have one single nightmare—or worse yet, "dream" – I just may throttle you, Jaina Solo. Because that's just the kind of big, bad Sith that I am. Live with it.

(End of Onyx's POV)

* * *

"Mother's gift" had been found in the market place, with an eccentric jeweller named "Madame Riia", next to a vegetable stand. Thanks to several weeks of hinting to the rest of the Palace that he had recently taken up with a Force sensitive girl he was trying to Turn, "Judas" was able to carry around the heavily bejewelled crown without suspicion. When the other Dark Jedi gave him knowing looks, Judas would only say, confidently, "It's almost time; I can feel it," and, with a dark smirk, hurry along. 

Judas, as was required, outlined his plan for the girl's Turning to the emperor. The emperor, pleased, accepted Judas' bribe for his approval of the girl's allegiance. Though he himself would not wear the redundant crown, the emperor placed the diadem to the side on a small table, where all would see it and know its owner.

Much to Judas' relief, no one saw him double-check his pocket for a smooth black panel.

It was two hours before Judas returned to his room; already the sun was beginning to rise. When he arrived, he pulled out an oddly shaped com-link and whispered that the gift had been given. Then, he began packing.

It would not be long now.

**

* * *

Next chapter throws us into the whole point of this story…or, at least, it starts to. –laughs- Dejarik will be over in a couple chapters…I'm not sure how many yet, since I haven't planned where each chapter starts/ends, but I will go straight into the sequel when Dejarik is over; "Caught in the Rain" has already been completed, and doesn't need as much work as Dejarik did, so it should come faster ;)**

**Also, I have posted a dark J/Z short story in the YJK section here (http: It's an AU of the beginning of this trilogy, in which Jaina reacts quite differently to Jacen's death. -grin-  
**

**Please R&R:D**

**-Tjz**


	14. Ch12: Destiny

**Terin**: Thanks! I'm afraid Fel isn't long for this story…but Onyx- and Sanar-goodness is – two out of three isn't so bad, is it:P

**Jaina-Elessar**: Onyx has figured out "the Zekk thing"…to some extent. He doesn't know how far Jaina is willing to go, and he doesn't know that she loves Zekk. He's still kind of figuring on Zekk and Jaina being best friends – with _maybe_ something more. But that's speculation. Miko's cool. :D And his role gets bigger the further into the trilogy we get, so keep liking him. /wink/

**

* * *

Chapter Twelve: Destiny**

**(Day Four – 07:45)**

The day began, predictably, with several very grumpy people.

Jaina, who had set her chrono to wake her up at seven-hundred-hours, wolfed down her breakfast and wanted to leave for the gym immediately. Sanar, she added quickly, should probably go see her mom right away, to catch her before she planned anything.

Sanar was not pleased about being woken up so early, and was in a grouchy mood. She did not, she snapped, want to see her mother until noon. At least then, she might be half-way prepared for the nitwit.

Onyx was trying to figure out why 'Solo' wanted to get to the fitness centre so early and was becoming more and more irritated as she refused to fill him in.

Jag had arrived at Jaina's comm., thinking that he was to escort Jaina to the centre. Onyx was far from pleased to see the Chiss colonel there, and was fiddling with his lightsaber in a rather intimidating way. To his credit, Jag was the only person even a little calm.

Unfortunately for the colonel, Jag's forced calm was irritating to both Jaina and Sanar.

Finally, Sanar found the Chiss so annoying that she left early, despite her reluctance to meet her mother again after so many years. The only good thing about it, she decided, was that she might see Clayra again… If her mother hadn't forgotten her somewhere—like a cantina or a seedy club—the way she had "lost" Sanar so many times. Then she wondered why her mother was even off Na'Lein'yhpaon, and she got worried.

The three remaining adults—Onyx, Jaina, and Jag—were still arguing and, in their morning mind-fog, did not immediately notice the sound of fighter ships coming into the atmosphere. Even then, it was Jaina—and a split second later, Jag—who realized what was happening. One met the event with triumph and a touch of surprise; the other felt only annoyance before switching into fighter pilot mode.

Onyx, well versed with duelling but having rarely been in a cockpit, was the last to recognize it. Pushing aside his dislike for Jag, he ordered the Chiss colonel to escort Jaina to safety.

Despite his hatred for Brakiss, Onyx had a duty to the Empire—one he had to take seriously, if ever wanted to become emperor in place of Brakiss, and turn 'Solo'.

**

* * *

08:13**

They had shed the bulky hover-chair a few blocks back; despite the speed Jaina was now able to use and manoeuvre with, however, the two were still moving slowly. Already Jaina could see Jag's impatient, longing glances at the space and air fight. She could sympathize, but knew that neither of them were going to be getting into a cockpit soon.

"Come on," she urged, grabbing his arm when he paused once again. "There's a duracrete building over there; the New Rebellion won't bother with it; you can watch the fight from there." When he didn't move, she stamped her foot. "Oh, stop it!" she snapped. "Don't you think I want to be in the air as much as you do? It's not happening—not this time, anyway. Now _come on_." Impatiently, she marched off, forcing him to follow her, or disobey a direct order from the second-in-command of the New Empire. She trusted his loyalty—however forced she suspected it to be—to propel him forward.

When she reached the sanctuary and turned to see him almost on her heels, she sighed. "Why, in the name of all that is good, do you follow the Empire so willingly?" she wondered in exasperation. "You're a smart guy—even I'm aware of that, and I barely know you; surely you must see how treacherous it is."

His pale green eyes were solemn. "Of course I do, Miss Solo." The title fit awkwardly on his tongue.

"If you _must_ use titles, I'm a colonel of the New Rebellion," she replied with a bite. "And no one's taping this; feel free to be human."

For a moment, his jaw tightened and his eyes flashed. "Unlike some, I have a job to do," he stated coldly. "Despite any protests I may have about my government, the Chiss have always allied with the Empire."

"No, _Thrawn_ allied with the Empire, Jag; one being doesn't swear allegiance for an entire species."

"Maybe not for the Rebellion," he snapped, "but things are different in Chiss society. We possess a code of honour and loyalty that is not to be broken."

"Not for anything?" she queried sarcastically, crossing her arms over her chest. "I hear your father defected for your mother."

He leaned out of the doorway and looked up at the shadows of the X-Wings and TIEs fighting and falling overhead. "My father found something that he placed above everything else; he would have died for my mother. It remains the same even now."

She smiled bitterly. "Love," she muttered, "is about the only thing that can turn everybody into helpless fools. Sometimes I think the lucky ones are the beings that can ignore it."

Jag frowned. "I wouldn't say that." He paused and his face became both older and younger in its own way. For a brief moment, she saw who he could have been, if he had been given the room to be himself, away from the Chiss, or even just the military.

"Neither would I, I guess." She shrugged and gave a humourless laugh. "I've sacrificed too much to give up now, anyway."

The stern man's eyes shot up to hers. "Onyx, I presume?"

Surprised, she spared a moment to wonder how he had found out. Then she smirked and slid down the wall and into a crouch. "Ironic, isn't it? Of all the guys I could have fallen for…it had to be the one who went against everything I believe in. Not to mention the murders his Dark persona has committed."

Jag studied the sky for a long moment, then sighed. "We all have our job to do—a destiny to fulfill, I suppose."

She snorted—couldn't help it. At his confused look, she explained. "That doesn't sound like a very…'Colonel Jagged Fel of the Chiss' thing to say."

He accepted her criticism with a wry nod. "I did not believe it for the longest time. My father told me it years ago, but without a higher cause, I never saw the truth in it."

"And what's your higher cause, assuming you've found it?"

A faint smile found his face. "That'd be telling."

"That'd be the point," she rejoined, standing. "C'mon; I've resigned myself to enforced bonding, and I've more than barred my soul. The least you could do is 'fess up."

He searched the sky, not meeting her eyes. "Some are born to make abrupt and obvious changes—like yourself, if my calculations are correct—but most are merely background players…helping the protagonist stay alive long enough to fulfill their own cause."

She snorted. "You highly underestimate yourself; if you'd let go of your steel resolve, you just might make it."

His slight smile was somehow unsettling and even a little…condescending. "Perhaps," he acknowledged, "if I have the time."

She frowned and was about to ask him what he meant when—

**

* * *

08:34**

When the attack started, Sanar was almost to the motel her mother favoured. _Leave it to the rebels,_ she thought, still grumpy from her early morning, _to put me in a situation where I _have_ to stay with my mother for the whole day._

As she continued to make her way through Coruscant (at a swifter pace now), she hoped that the rebels would at least make a decent go at it—who knew? Maybe whatever was making Durron's ghost suddenly and constantly show up would be bombed…

Unfortunately, a quick glance at the Strings assured her of otherwise.

_Future glimpses can really suck,_ she mentally snarled. _The Force is so picky about what you see._

She dismissed the question of why she was able to see something like the outcome of a battle, and not where she would be in a few days. As she had been growing up, the visions had been painfully clear. Once she reached the age of nineteen, however, the "Strings"—as she had childishly named them—had become blurry. As if, suddenly, mercifully, the Force had decided that seeing the events of her life once was more than enough.

Or as if her destiny was at the point where it could be changed very easily…?

She frowned; that was definitely not an idea she liked. Her life could go down too many paths—death being the most prominent option; a continued, chafing life as a slave was another. Clayra was still vulnerable and Devnos could only get worse. Caesarea… Well, it was best not to think about what could happen to Sanar's mother.

Too many possible destinies. Too many tragedies that hadn't happened—yet.

For some inexplicable reason, Durron's words came back to haunt her: _"Everyone has a shot at redemption, Sanar; you just have to reach out and grab it, before it's gone. Remember that."_

She focused on the Force, then jumped down a flight of stairs. The needed concentration let her escape—if only for a moment—the mirage of redemption.

Nothing could fix what had happened in her life; nothing could salvage her soul now. The facts were too simple, too cruel.

Murder was murder, no matter how much of it was self-defence, no matter what the dead had done.

Hatred and anger were too deeply ingrained in who she was; deceit was her very way of life. Not even Sanar knew who she was anymore.

_There is no chance for redemption (if such a thing truly exists) when the being in need of redemption is lost to shadow_, Sanar thought with forced reason, wishing someone was around to slap some sense into her. _Live with it, Klis._

**

* * *

08:47**

_Tick…_

Instinctively, Jaina looked up; Jag's reflexes, however, dictated something much different. He took two quick steps and shoved her to the far corner of the building. She landed semi-awkwardly, her training allowing her to accept the fall, though not as comfortably as she would have liked. _Kriff, I'm losing my touch. Next thing I know, I'll have to give into my mom's pleas to join her in the political arena. Oh, shudder…_

**_BOOM_**

Such thoughts were abandoned completely, however, when the front of the building blew in. Han Solo had passed his instincts on well and—just as they did in the case of the famous smuggler-turned-upright-citizen…sorta—they saved Jaina's life. Or, rather, Jag's shove and her duck behind a thick, marble desk, let her escape with only minor burns and abrasions.

_Jeez, what are they thinking…bombing a hotel! I'm beginning to agree with Jag's suspicion of the Rebellion's strategy (or lack thereof)…_ When objects stopped flying, the Jedi warily crawled out of her hiding place. "Whoo-y, that was a close one," she called out, trying to find Jag amid the dust and small fires (put out as soon as the Jedi spotted them). "Thanks for the push, by the way…"

A faint grunt caught her attention and she followed her ears, which led her stumbling feet to the entrance, where the damage had been worst. "Jag?" she tried uncertainly, barely able to see through the dust.

A hand caught hers unexpectedly and pulled her to the ground. Through squinted eyes she could make out the Chiss colonel—the only Imperial to be even decent to her. Her Force suppressing collar was unable to cover all of the pain that radiated from the young man. A scan of his body confirmed her suspicions. Part of the ceiling had been brought down by the bomb and landed on Fel's lower torso.

She hadn't expected to feel pain when someone she had known for such a short period of time fell but… She gripped his hand tightly. "You _idiot_!" she shrieked through a coughing fit. "What were you—orders don't—how _dare_ you try to—" she hacked up some dust "—play hero!"

Barely—just barely—she could make out his sooty face, tight with pain. "I told you," he said through clenched teeth. "Very few are—protagonists in life. You're not…backing out of it that easily—Jaina Solo."

If he hadn't had a chest wound, she would have pummelled him for that. "But—Jag—" Absurdly, she chose that moment—of all the seconds of war—to let a few, rebellious tears escape. "I can't…I mean, I don't know if I…"

His second hand came up and forced her own open. "This'll help," he muttered, placing a round object in her palm. She caught sight of a choker—the one Onyx had bought her the other day—before Jag squeezed her hand tightly, curling it into a fist until the hard material felt like a brand on her skin. "'Love'," he said, quoting her earlier statement in his weak, dying voice, "'is about—the only thing that can—turn everybody into—helpless fools'—Jaina…" His head fell back, slowly—so achingly slow—as the life drained out of him.

Then, defying everything she had ever learned from her uncle, Jaina heard the voice of Jagged Fel—a completely non-Force sensitive being—in her head. _"Go show Onyx and that thrice-damned 'emperor' what everyone's so scared of, Jaina_._"_

What everyone was so scared of—the emotion that no one could control, that made people do stupid, insane things…and feel the better for it. The emotion that people killed and died for, wept and laughed for.

The one emotion that Brakiss could not stand for or comprehend:

Love.

(_"You used to believe you could turn him back. What if you were right? What if it's your...I don't know..._destiny_ to save him?"_)

Helplessly, she sat down, pulled her knees to her chest, and buried her face in her hands, too scared to cry or even to run.

_Right about now, Jasa, destiny is sounding like the opposite of a good thing._

**

* * *

15:23**

Devnos Klis waited for Onyx impatiently. This was it—his chance. He wouldn't get a better time than now to finish off the Darkest Knight. The Emperor had excused Devnos from the command post for this very reason, he knew. His master was giving him the opportunity of a lifetime on a silver platter. Now if Onyx would just pass this corridor, like he was supposed to…!

At last, the Sith apprentice was there, striding through the hallway, cape flowing behind him. Both his arrogance and powerful aura were still in place, making Devnos hesitate for the barest moment, only to be bolstered by the image of his sister and her slave tattoo.

_You'll pay for turning my sister against me, Onyx_, Devnos vowed. If it had only been the power and the arrogance, he might have killed the man quickly, but Sanar was supposed to be left out of the equation completely._ I'll make sure you_—_and that cheap_ niftyax_ you seem to care so much about_—_come to your end thinking death is a merciful thing._

As if he heard the pledge, Onyx glanced sharply at the room where Devnos waited. With a swift movement, both men had engaged their lightsabers—Devnos in attack, Onyx on instinct.

Like a wraith, Devnos stepped out of the shadows, the erratic lighting twisting his face into that of a monster. "It ends here, Onyx," he stated coldly, then attacked.

**

* * *

15:37**

She had put it off long enough—first with an extravagantly long lunch, then with a walk around the marketplace. She had to face this—face the past. _Talking to Mama?_ she snorted, prepping herself. _Come on, Klis_—_that's_ easy_ after everything you've lived through._ Sanar was about to cross the threshold of her mother's room when—

_& treason brakiss has must tell onyx solo attack_ _&_

She stiffened from shock. Her childhood instincts took over quickly, however, and she spun on her heel and sprinted back to the Imperial Palace.

_Larifx, this isn't good…_

**

* * *

15:47**

The lightsabers crackled as they met, and the force of the blows almost sent both men flying to the walls. The two were not evenly matched—Onyx was more experienced—but Devnos had expected and prepared for that. For hours, he had familiarized himself with the unpredictable settings and the chaotic lighting.

Just how much that would help him against an ("almost") completely trained Dark Jedi, however, had been—and still was—debatable.

Slowly, Onyx's techniques became increasingly unpredictable. Gratingly, he pushed Devnos back, a cold sneer on his face. "You are a fool, Klis," he mocked. "You think you fight me for your own glory, but you're only a puppet."

Devnos growled and smashed his blade against Onyx's, twice as angry as he had been before. "I am no one's _puppet_," he snapped. He had fought far too long to be merely an instrument.

Onyx smirked. "Of course not," the Sith returned sarcastically. In a swift movement, he swept the other's lightsaber across the room, and grabbed Devnos by the throat. "Who sent you?"

Devnos grappled, trying to loosen Onyx's fingers. "Go to Hell, Onyx," he spat.

"You first," Onyx snarled, smashing the other's head against the wall. "Was it Brakiss? Was it that _ridiculous_, feeble excuse of an emperor? Answer me before I make you incapable to do so!"

Devnos lip had split and blood trickled down his pale chin, making him a ghastly looking creature, made only more hideous with the erratic lighting. "Of course," he hissed finally. "You didn't think he'd keep someone as incompetent as you? Fool—he's been training me since day one."

Onyx's eyes glared with a furious hatred. "You'll never win, Klis," he snarled. "I am the Darkest Knight—Brakiss only sent you to distract me; even he does not relish an all-out fight with me. You are _nothing_."

The younger man's derogatory remarks only further fuelled Devnos' anger and injured pride, and his need to lash out—to make a lasting mark—got the better of him. "Even if you kill me, Brakiss will find someone better, Onyx. He was going to give you the benefit of the doubt—why do you think he sent me to kill your _niftyax_ slave?" Onyx's fist shattered Devnos' nose and left cheek bone, but still Devnos continued, not heeding the consequences. "Brakiss was not pleased to hear that she still drew breath…I was supposed to send her into the lowest level of the Corellian hells. But don't worry: when you are gone—he _will_ complete my job. He may even be doing it now."

Regrettably for Devnos, Onyx was very well prepared for taking care of people who displeased him. Perhaps even more unfortunately, the Sith had learned some very painful lessons from Brakiss—one especially:

Pain and humiliation are only real when the being is left alive.

**

* * *

16:29**

"_Citizen Solo_."

Slowly, Jaina lifted her face from its position on her knees (had she been there the entire time since Jag death?) and looked up into the cold face of one of the Emperor's Guard and several of the burliest soldiers she had ever seen outside of a wrestling match. "What do you want?" she said, her voice just one volume notch above a sigh.

Two imposing guards dragged her up. "You, Jaina Solo, are accused of high treason against the New Empire," the red-clothed Guard spat. "Your crimes include planning an attack against your government and killing an Imperial officer." He glanced derisively at the limp, dust- and rubble-covered form of Jagged Fel.

"But I didn't—"

The blow came hard and fast across her cheek. "Silence! Your trial has already been held; you were seen trading information with an unknown Rebel, and the holo-cams recorded your attempts to escape the palace this morning. We are here to take you to your execution."

She stared at him, blinking rapidly, her mind attempting to capture these developments. "My…"

The red Guard motioned to the black-clothed soldiers, then turned his back on her. When a gag was positioned roughly around her mouth and her hands were cuffed tightly, they dragged her to her…execution. The idea became dust in her mouth and choked her.

_It wasn't supposed to end this way!_ she screamed desperately, but no one heard her. And, in a few hours, no one would ever again.

**

* * *

16:29**

Sanar raced up the crumbling stairs to the palace, her breath coming in insufficient bursts. Over and over again, the vision played in her mind. The Strings were desperately pushing her forward; she could barely think straight.

_Lord Onyx…he needs to know!_ the Strings whispered as she stumbled down the hall, trying to find Onyx's quarters. "Of all the times to forget!" she cursed, becoming disorganized with the changed surroundings. Bombs had landed there—and here—was that where the medical ward had once rested?

_He needs to know! Hurry! Hurry, Sanar!_

**

* * *

16:33**

The soldiers threw Jaina into the anteroom of Brakiss' throne chamber and then bowed out, leaving only two of the Emperor's Guards to warily watch the traitor. _No hope of escape here_, she thought morosely, slumping into a crouch against the wall.

One of the Guards slipped into the throne room to alert Brakiss of her presence while the other secured the door like a watch-dog. Increasingly nervous, Jaina's fingers fidgeted, as if searching for a mechanical piece to take apart.

There were no machines on her, but her twitching fingers found a hard object in the front pocket of her jacket. She pulled the object out surreptitiously, careful to hide it from the Guard's view. When she opened her hand, her eyes found the choker Onyx had bought—the one Jag had told her to take. _"This'll help_," he had said.

She glanced up to make sure the Guard wasn't watching, then raised the choker a little to get a better look. On the outside, it was still the same simple, beautiful design; but on the inside… She swallowed a gasp.

A notch, barely perceptible, marred the smooth gold. Hardly daring to hope, she used her fingernail to nudge the switch forward, to the second setting. For a second, nothing happened, then the Force flooded her senses. It wasn't as strong as she was used, but she bet… Yes—the closer she held it to the Force-suppressing collar, the more powerful the cancellation.

She waited until the second Guard came back to converse with the other, then snapped the collar around her neck, hiding the action as best she could behind a curtain of her hair.

When the two Guards yanked her up by her arms, she didn't protest. Jag had been right; everyone had their destiny to fulfill. Apparently, she was about to have a head-on collision with hers.

**

* * *

16:37**

Miko was surprised when "his" pilot was none other than Han Solo, with Leia Organa Solo co-piloting. "General Solo?"

"Get in kid," the Rebel hero tossed over his shoulder, getting ready to pull the _Millennium Falcon_ up. "We're going to have to pull some fancy flying to get out in time."

"But, Jaina—"

Han's head whipped around so fast, Miko feared the hero would have whiplash. "What about her?" he demanded.

"She's in the palace—or someone nearby—if we waited, maybe—"

Leia shook her head grimly. "There's no way to contact her; we need to leave now."

"But surely you can—"

"I had to cut our bond," the princess said, not looking at him. "Jaina's reaction to Jacen's demise nearly killed this little one," she touched her swollen abdomen protectively.

Miko stared, unable to believe what he heard. "You cut your bond with your _daughter_? But—"

Han forced himself to continue the start-up procedures. "You're sure, princess?" he interrupted gruffly.

Leia couldn't look at him. At any other time, she knew Han would have raced off, not heeding anyone's advice, to rescue his little princess. But he wouldn't dare while Leia—a few months along in her pregnancy—was aboard. There would be no way to protect the ship or its occupants much longer. "There's no way," she affirmed, voice cracking. "Jaina's on her own."

Miko shielded himself and strapped into one of the back seats, unable to bear the grief Han was radiating. _I'm sorry, Solo,_ he thought. _I did my best. May the Force be with you._

**

* * *

16:39**

Brakiss was uglier than ever, and Jaina had made sure to let him know that as soon as she entered. That he had not replied—only smirked nastily—added to her anxiety. Apparently, being held tightly by a Guard, she posed no threat in his mind. Either that, or he was really, really enjoying the idea of Jaina Solo's execution at his hands.

"Where's Onyx?" she demanded, fighting down her slowly increasing fear.

Brakiss ignored her and gestured for all the Guards—save the one holding Jaina—to leave. "I'll give you one chance to save yourself; who was your Rebel contact?"

She rolled her eyes. "I had no part in the attack, you vomitous, babbling mass. I demand that you—" The Guard shook her so viciously that she bit her lip and quieted. '_There is no emotion; there is peace_.'

"No doubt your contact has already fled with the Rebels, and we will discover his identity soon enough," Brakiss continued, not paying attention to her reply. "Save me the trouble of a search, however, and you will be returned to Onyx unharmed."

'_There is no ignorance; there is knowledge.'_ She gritted her teeth. "You don't care if I'm innocent or not, Brakiss, and don't think I'm unaware of it. Letting me go would only be another of your attempts to control Onyx. It won't work," she added.

Brakiss'—or, rather, Palpatine's—yellow eyes darkened. "So be it, _Jedi_."

She started a little; had her Jedi-code-quoting really gotten past her shields? Kriff; out of practice was an understatement… _No time to fix that now,_ she thought glumly. _May as well have some fun while I can._

The Guard's grip on Jaina's upper arms tightened, forcing her to stay still. "Citizen Jaina Solo," Brakiss began ominously, drawing his lightsaber, "you have been found guilty of high treason against the New Empire."

"'There is no passion; there is serenity,' " she muttered, smirking when she caught his annoyance.

"Because of your heinous crimes, you are to be executed _immediately_."

"You promise?" she retorted to cover her relief. Apparently, her "crime" was too holo-net worthy for Brakiss to have fun with her.

His smile was cold as he engaged his lightsaber with a snap-_hiss_. "Any last words, Miss Solo?" he murmured, enjoying himself too much to snarl at her cracks.

She glanced down, then around the room, trying to see if there was any way to escape. There wasn't; the Guard held her too tightly, Brakiss was too in control of his lightsaber. Both would be too strong-willed for a mind-trick. She sighed and brushed against her father's Force presence in goodbye. "'There is no death'," she whispered, "'there is the Force'."

The last thing she saw before she screwed her eyes shut was Brakiss' red lightsaber hurtling toward her neck.

**

* * *

16:41**

Onyx stormed into his room, furious over the attack—both the one against himself, personally, and the one still raging outside. Devnos' actions still too unbelievable, he forced his mind to the Rebel attack.

What could have been used for his purposes had come far too soon and without warning. Why hadn't his spies caught it? An attack of that magnitude could have easily been twisted to make sure Brakiss came out on the wrong side of the public eye. It could have been the last card – instead, the chance had slipped through Onyx's fingers like water.

A roar of frustration found exit in his mouth. _Another escape for you, Brakiss, you old fool. But your luck won't last much longer – I'll see to that._ He might have been tempted to wait just a little longer, but with Brakiss being so bold as to send an assassin after him….

More ill-tempered than he had been in a long time, he collapsed onto a hover-couch and ran a hand down his face.

He wondered where Solo was, if she was alright. He berated himself for caring too much. Then he realized that, given Devnos' blusterings about Brakiss' grudge, he would need to keep a close on Solo's safety. Silently, he growled about all the ways he would torture Fel if Solo hadn't escaped the attack unscathed.

An image from the old nightmare – Jaina, dead by his hand – burst into his mind.

His angry fist found the side desk, and a holo fell off and onto the floor. With a frustrated sigh, Onyx brought the object up and into his hand with the Force. He studied it for a moment, then frowned. The holo was not one he was used to – at least, not a style he had seen in quite a few years – not since the New Republic was in control, and Zekk was just a scavenger orphan, trying to make his way through life.

His anger momentarily disappearing into curiosity, he clicked on the activation button. For a moment, the blue of the holo flickered, then the image of the Solo twins – laughing, and with their arms around each others' shoulders – appeared. It must have been taken before the war started, because both were still quiet young, and no worry strained their smiles.

Unimpressed, Onyx was about to deactivate it when the holo-image changed. This time, the grizzled face of Peckhum appeared. The Darkest Knight blinked, stunned, as a wave of grief washed over him – Zekk's grief, but an emotion he was forced to experience nonetheless.

Onyx sighed and froze the image, the memory of Peckhum's death playing over and over again in his mind. Why would Brakiss want Peckhum dead? What could an old spacer possibly do? Assassin – bah! Peckhum was the farthest thing from; he had only ever helped. He had only ever—

Peckhum had only ever cared about Zekk.

The Sith groaned as the truth finally slapped him in the face. In his own way, Peckhum _had_ been an assassin – not meant (directly) for Brakiss, but for Lord Onyx, Sith apprentice. Peckhum's love and belief in him was the only thing Zekk had never doubted. Even Jaina's friendship had been tainted by feelings of unworthiness, but Peckhum…if Peckhum had told Zekk the right things, Onyx might have no longer had control. When Peckhum died by Onyx's own hand, so, too, did a large part of Zekk.

Or, Onyx realized with growing horror, so Onyx and Brakiss had thought; the past two months had proven that to be untrue. It appeared that Peckhum has passed his work onto the defiant Jaina Solo, once Zekk's best friend.

As if in a dream, Onyx unfroze the image and the holo was replaced with one of Solo piggybacking Zekk. While Solo beamed at the holo taker (was it just Onyx, or did she lean in closer to Zekk than was needed?), Zekk had glanced up at his friend at the last moment, as if to check that she was alright.

A terrifying thought suddenly struck him – Solo was Zekk's last chance and, by now, Brakiss had to know, just as he had known Peckhum would pose a threat. And if he had already made one attempt on her, through Devnos… Moving instinctively, Onyx grabbed his lightsaber and stood, only to realize that he had no idea where Solo was. He searched the Force but found only a blur – assurance that she was alive, but little else. When he checked for Fel's presence, he was surprised to find the man dead.

_Not good_.

Just as he was on the verge of going out and searching all of Coruscant, Solo burst into the room. At least, that was what he initially thought; a second glance revealed the woman's identity to be that of the dancer Solo was always trying to get him to treat "decently".

"Brakiss – " the woman gasped, swaying from over-exertion. "He's going to – execute Solo – for – treason – in the – throne room – hurry – "

Onyx cursed. "You're sure?" he demanded. He didn't wait for the slave's confirmation. Instead, he pocketed the holo, and grabbed his cloak before rushing out.

He reached the throne room in record time, despite the debris the attack had scattered everywhere. The dancer's ragged breathing and wearied steps followed him, but he didn't bother to attempt to figure out why she followed. That was her business; Jaina was his.

He literally broke down the doors (they splintered surprisingly easily, considering how much they were worth) and was immediately glad he had.

Brakiss' lightsaber was already moving to decapitate Solo. With a desperate Force-controlled leap, Onyx met his "master's" lightsaber with his own. "Try that again," he hissed, "and you're a dead man."

To Onyx's surprise, Brakiss grinned boyishly, only the briefest second of worry in his eyes, and stepped back, gesturing for the red-clothed Guard to do the same. "I was wondering how long it would take for you to come," the emperor remarked, disengaging his lightsaber. "A real Sith would not have even needed to raise his blade to stop me." He sneered. "But, then again, no true Sith would have wanted to protect a _girl_ – especially a slave."

Warily, Onyx lowered his blade, making sure he was between Brakiss and Solo. "And I suppose you've figured out how to mould me into the perfect Sith – again?" he said sarcastically. Behind him, he could sense Solo cringe. In the far, far recesses of Onyx's mind, he could feel Zekk echo the sentiment.

_Kriff. Better make this quick._

Brakiss beamed, looking, ironically, like an angel. "You have one last trial before you are truly a Sith," he agreed.

Onyx bristled, still wary of attack. It was not like Brakiss to give up this easily. "And what, pray tell, is that?"

Brakiss' pleasant façade dropped like a weight. "Destroy Jaina Solo."

The Darkest Knight froze, mouth agape in horror.

The emperor chuckled. "Yes, Onyx – destroy your precious 'Jaya'," he sneered. "Annihilate her mind and soul. Let her know she failed to turn you back the Light and save her precious New Republic."

Onyx felt sick; electricity arched in his fingers, begging to be released. Even as his temper rose, however, he stalled. "Why Solo?"

Brakiss' expression was condescending and clearly answered, "That should be fairly obvious to anyone with brain."

A rock dropped deep in Onyx's stomach as he realized it was. Zekk wasn't the only one Solo affected too much.

"She represents your old life," Brakiss explained, tipping Solo's chin. She jerked away from him, glaring. "Besides, she seems to have you feeling as if you _love_ her," Brakiss spat. "Destroy her…and you obliterate the remaining Light in your heart."

"She has nothing to do with it," he denied, his knees nearly giving way as Zekk rose up at the lie. Why the kriff was controlling the weak fool becoming such a problem? For years it had gone off without a hitch – why did the blasted goody-goody have to show up at such a tense moment?

"However," Onyx managed to continue, "she has her positive points, and her attempts to 'redeem' me are – while pathetic – humorous; reason enough to allow her to live, if only for a while."

"You know, I'm surprised you'd hand Zekk over on a silver platter," Solo interrupted, her smirk surprisingly genuine for a person who was listening to a debate about whether or not she should be killed.

Brakiss sent her a sharp glance. "What?"

She scowled at the emperor. "Manners," she replied pointedly, just to irritate him.

"If I die," she continued, "I hope – actually, I don't – that you've been practicing your sparring."

Brakiss slapped her so hard she stumbled back a few feet. "You are nothing, Solo – and your death will only serve to – "

She scoffed, ignoring his tirade. "Idiot."

Onyx's lightsaber was up before Brakiss could hit Solo again. "Don't even think of it, _Master_; you know as well as I that the only real way to claim the title of a Sith is to dispose of one's master."

Brakiss' face darkened. "How dare you turn on me?" he hissed. "After all I've done for you!"

"You haven't done near so much that you own me!" Onyx spat with all the venom he could muster.

"Own you?" Brakiss repeated incredulously, his fury growing. "_Own you_? I _made_ you! Everything you are is because of _me_. You owe me everything, and your precious 'Jaya', nothing. She forced you to become everything you hate – weak, controlled."

"Hey!" Jaina protested. "You already claimed responsibility for the Dark side stuff – don't change your mind now."

Brakiss gestured sharply in anger, and the Guard grabbed Solo and placed a blaster against the side of her head. "Not another word," the emperor hissed.

It was all Zekk needed to see.

In a swift, instinctive movement that barely even Onyx was aware of, Onyx/Zekk attacked.

* * *

Jaina's heart leapt at the fleeting glimpse of Zekk through the Force. Eager to keep an eye on the showdown, she used the Force to divert the Guard's blaster. Bracing herself, she then flipped the Guard onto his back with a grunt. When he rolled over to stand once more, she brought her foot down on his exposed gut. A swift kick to his head put him out of commission. 

With a pleased expression and a silent "thank you" to her aunt, Jaina stepped over the Guard and picked up the blaster. For a moment, she considered simply aiming at Brakiss, but Sanar pulled the Jedi down with an irritated tug.

"Don't be an idiot," Sanar reprimanded the younger girl. "This is between the emperor and Lord Onyx – and whoever's playing around in Lord Onyx's mind," she added with a frown.

Jaina perked up. "You mean Zekk!" Her head whipped around as she studied the ongoing duel. "Cross your fingers, Sanar."

Sanar watched the Jedi carefully. "Who is Zekk?"

Jaina didn't answer and Sanar was quickly distracted. "You're going to have to jump in soon, Solo."

The young woman shot Sanar a worried frown, then stood, muscles tensing in preparation for whatever happened.

("What if it's your…I don't know…_destiny_ to save him?")

* * *

Deep within the abyss, Zekk strained, pouring everything he had into this struggle. Onyx was distracted just enough – but not so much so that he didn't notice Zekk fighting back. 

Frantically, Zekk focused on everything that made him himself.

Love – for Peckhum, who had been a second father. For friends he – and Onyx – had betrayed. For the family he had lost, and whom just barely remembered. For Jaina.

Anger – _his_ anger – for the injustice in the galaxy, for his imprisonment in his own body, for the trickery Brakiss had employed to convince Zekk of what he could do.

Compassion – for the slaves he had watched Onyx abuse, for the aliens that had to be hidden from the Empire, for a galaxy he had not seen in far too long.

Awe – for his brief glimpses of a sunrise, or even for something as simple as the feeling of a raindrop sliding down his skin.

Suffering – that which had made him what he was. His parents' deaths. His feelings of worthlessness as a child. Watching Jaina, and wondering if there would ever be anything more between them. Feeling Peckhum fade away, his life snuffed out by Zekk's own hand.

Independence – what he never should have laid aside, not for the galaxy.

_This is **my** body, Onyx, and I'm taking it back. Leave!_

Still Onyx held on…by the thinnest of threads.

_Am I just not enough?_ Zekk despaired.

* * *

Once he had been in hyperspace for thirty minutes (give or take), Miko picked up the control panel and took a deep breath. He checked his chrono anxiously as his foot tapped nervously, though there was no more danger. 

_Not long now, Brakiss…_

* * *

Sanar was off in the world of visions, and—despite herself—Jaina turned away from the duelling Sith to watch the dancer in amazement. _A real seer…wow…sucks for her, of course, but wow…_

"Stop thinking about me," Sanar snapped, "and concentrate on what's happening. Look in their eyes. It's all in the eyes…" she trailed off, her own chocolate orbs focusing on something not of this world.

_Creepy_, Jaina corrected herself, shuddering. But when she reached out with the Force and caught a glimpse of Onyx's eyes, she froze in anticipation.

They weren't Onyx's frigid jade.

Instead, they were almost – so close to – Zekk's warm green.

She took a step forward, then paused.

Not Onyx – not yet Zekk.

("Zekk's not strong enough to keep Onyx out. The only way Zekk's coming back is if you're dead!")

"Oh kriff," she groaned at the memory of Kyp's prophecy. Her eyes dropped to the Guard's blaster, which she had taken from him. "How in the galaxy am I supposed to do this?" Swallowing, she held the weapon up before her wide eyes, and –

The room exploded.

_

* * *

Destiny is not a matter of chance. It is a matter of choice. It is not a thing to be waited for, it is a thing to be achieved._  
-William Jennings Bryan

Onyx stumbled as the world rocked beneath him, and Zekk took advantage once again. The weakling of yesterday had disappeared into a river, slowly but surely taking ground and not giving it up. When a piece of the ceiling fell on Onyx's shoulder, he sprawled on the floor, his lightsaber skittering across the floor. Though he stumbled to his feet fairly well for someone who had been knocked down by several pounds of plaster, it was another advantage for Zekk.

And a slightly more potent one for Brakiss.

It happened slowly, but Jaina couldn't find the time to scream a warning. Seeing Brakiss smirk and swing his lightsaber brought her instincts up to full gear.

It was very, very lucky that Jaina was the daughter of Han Solo.

With more speed than she had thought even the Force could provide, the Jedi sprung between the emperor and Onyx/Zekk…

Brakiss, still wanting something to hold over Onyx, adjusted his swing as much as he was able…

Sanar stilled as the Strings released her…

Jaina closed her eyes…

Zekk froze in horror…

…and the hilt of Brakiss' lightsaber contacted Jaina's skull with a resounding _crack_, sending her tumbling against the far wall, where she crumpled.

Completely still.

_

* * *

He was drowning in a river wide and deep, with a current so fierce that every time his feet found purchase on the loose rocks below, they would slip out from under him, sending him below water. Though he pushed with all his strength, his head was never far above the waves, and he swallowed too much of the slimy liquid._

_A scream of unadulterated grief pierced his ears and shattered his mind, even as he shrivelled away from the idea that the loss of love could cause so much pain, could push him so far away…_

_Just when he thought there was no way it could get worse, fire raced from his feet, up his legs, through his torso, and engulfed his spine. He tried to scream, but there was nothing! No sound to pass his lips, no way even to force it beyond his…but no, there was no voice box for him to use. No lungs to breathe._

_The fire had burnt them all to a crisp._

_He saw a flash of liquid brown, then green, and then he was plunged deep, deep into the current as the fire swallowed him forever._

_Onyx hadn't even been able to scream._

* * *

**I know...that cliff is evil. /grins/ Next chapter is the last one (I think).**

**Hint: reviews make me post faster... ;)  
**

**-Tjz**


	15. Ch13: Redemption

**Terin**: Thanks! And Leia and Jaina will _definitely_ be having a talk, whether Jaina lives or not. Btw, who said Jaina's coming home? –smirks-

**Jaina-Elessar**: Don't you love cliffies? Aren't they fun? -grins- Here's the next post, as begged ;)

* * *

**Chapter Thirteen: Redemption**

For a moment, everyone was too stunned to move. Then another boulder fell, this time between Brakiss and the others, and Zekk rushed to Jaina's side. Gingerly, desperately, he held her close, afraid of injuring her further, but too distraught by the idea of her death to do otherwise.

"J-Jay?" he whispered brokenly.

Her eyes opened so slowly that he almost wondered if glue covered her irises. "Zekk…" she breathed, blood dribbling from her mouth, down her neck, her gaze erratic as it tried to find him. Her face was becoming increasingly pale as the Force came for her, as it had all the other Solo children.

His throat and mouth worked desperately, attempting to find the words…and coming up with a blank every time. "It's me," he replied finally, trying to swallow the dust that covered his tongue.

Her smile was the shadow of an echo of her grin, but real—radiant, even. "I—knew it," she whispered, her eyes full of an eerie light even as she choked and gurgled on her dark blood. "Love…you…"

Neither noticed Sanar, who was crawling toward them, with very real worry in her eyes until, hoarsely, she told Zekk, "You'd better—it might be the last—"

He cut the slave off before he had to hear her words. "Jay—I—I love you—so much—please—"

Jaina's right hand moved a little, as if she wanted to touch him in comfort, but it fell back after only a second. "I knnnnn…oh…"

"Jaina…don't—please—don't do this…"

The only response he received was a weak string of Light healing straight to his heart.

_I'm sorry, Zekk; this is the only way_. Her last message was so weak that Zekk had to strain to hear it, and then…with a harsh cutting of her own life force, she was gone.

* * *

Sanar watched, frozen, as Solo's body—almost identical to her own—lost all strength, and the Jedi's head lolled back in death. Desperate and unwilling to see someone so young—younger even than Clayra—die, Sanar reached out and _grabbed_ Jaina's fading soul, and held on for all her worth. 

It wouldn't last long, she knew, especially since the body had willed itself to die (_kriffing__ heroes – always have to sacrifice everything to make sure it'll work_) but maybe… Sanar stole Solo's limp body from Zekk's unresisting, stunned arms, and held the younger woman close, shutting her eyes, the soul-deep exhaustion coming upon her already.

_I need your help, Solo. Grab on, and **keep** holding on. Please…if you go, I go. It's that simple_—_and I'm not a hero, Solo; I am_ not_ dying for you!_

Sanar took a deep breath, and began to form a bond with the Jedi.

_

* * *

With his piercing emerald eyes, excellent fighting skills, and knowledge of the Force, Zekk would be a formidable opponent to anyone who crossed him._  
-Jedi Bounty, by Kevin J. Anderson and Rebecca Moesta

Zekk blinked at Jaina's lifeless form in shock and grief. _Nononononono__…_ She couldn't be dead, not after everything. She. Couldn't. Be. It wasn't _possible_. It would be far too cruel of the Force to steal her just when he escaped—just when they were so close…

He was barely aware of someone taking Jaina's—_oh stars!_—corpse from him. He didn't resist. Though he wanted to hold her forever, he knew it didn't matter now. Nothing did. _It doesn't matter anymore._ For the first time since his parents' deaths, Zekk wanted to literally run away and lock himself up in his room, and find some way to forget.

_You've run too much already, Zekk_.

His hand dropped and clunked on a metal cylinder. His tear-filled eyes found Onyx's lightsaber. For a moment, he only stared, unable to believe that such a small thing could have destroyed so much.

For power, Zekk had turned his back on the Solo twins' friendship and beliefs, Peckhum's respect, control over his own existence. And the price had been Jaina's life.

_But it can fix just as much_, he thought savagely, as if his words could will it to be so. He grabbed and ignited the blade, just as Brakiss came back for more. Sanar started at the snap-_hiss_, but slumped back over Jaina's form just as quickly. Zekk ignored her.

It was time to return Brakiss' treatment of his Darkest Knight's naïve trust.

_

* * *

She was swimming in the river again, back on Yavin 4, and she couldn't remember ever feeling so relaxed. She could just fall back and let go…let it all go for the first time in years, as the water trickled over and around her, taking all the old wounds away. When she heard laughter and splashes of water, she stood and turned around._

_On the bank were Jacen, Anakin, Tahiri and Raynar, chasing each other like the kids they had been_—_or should have been_—_before their… What was it called? She searched her mind for the word only briefly, then lazily gave up. It had been a word_—_an idea_—_that had scared her…once upon a time…she thought, but wasn't sure._

**_It doesn't matter anymore._**

_She nodded, pleased with the idea. "It doesn't matter anymore," she echoed, smiling faintly…_

* * *

Sanar thought of transferring the bond to Onyx—or whoever he had transformed into—but the briefest mind touch opened her to a raw, savage grief and hatred that the on-again, off-again seer knew Solo wouldn't survive. 

So she lived with Solo's troubles.

Sanar could have let go—should have, even, considering how quickly her strength was waning. Instead, she anchored Solo's life force to her own, and opened her mind, taking Solo deeper and deeper—the girl's only hope of survival.

As she saw everything Solo had lived, fought and died for, she knew Solo could see the same for her.

Sanar had never felt so naked, so vulnerable, but still she held on, and tried to lessen Solo's inevitable pain.

_

* * *

For a moment, ugly visions bombarded her, making her weak, and pulling her under the water. They arched along her spine, making her cry out, and shattering her peace. But then something pushed them away, as if the wave was only a thick blanket that tried to stifle her. Vaguely, she thanked the protective force…or she hoped she did, since something was nagging her, making it important. She brushed away the desire to say, "Whatever, Mother."_

_The happy chatting on the shore drew her attention once again, and she smiled. She kicked against the sand beneath her feet, and began to walk toward them. For a few steps, it worked, but…_

_There was something trying to hold her back from the shore. In confusion, she looked down at her waist, as if expecting to find arms wrapped around her waist. Instead, she spotted a red-violet substance that floated directly around her body before leading down into the sand._

_When she tried to grab the rope, it slid through her fingers and she shivered as her hand became engulfed in flames and then froze. The sensation shocked her skin and for a moment she thought she sank a little into the sand. She stilled, but when nothing more happened, she shrugged and turned back to the "rope". Becoming frustrated with the ineffectiveness of her fingers, she plunged into the river, hoping to get a better look…_

* * *

Further and harder, Zekk pushed Brakiss back. His destination for the treacherous emperor wasn't clearly defined yet, but the balcony looked like as good as any place to dump a soon-to-be-very-dead emperor over. 

Brakiss was beginning to see the murder in Zekk's eyes, and fear was finding its way into his veins. "Didn't I treat you just like a son?" the emperor tried desperately. "I gave you everything you wanted—don't deny it!"

Zekk landed a vicious blow to Brakiss' shoulder. "You twisted it," he argued, though he knew it was one of the two things Brakiss probably wanted. "And led me to Onyx and my prison," he continued furiously.

Brakiss faltered for a moment, and Zekk realized that Brakiss hadn't felt Onyx disappear. He hadn't…

_Oh Sith._

Brakiss hadn't felt a difference between Onyx and Zekk. There _wasn't_ a difference between Onyx and Zekk—at least, not enough.

Onyx was a Sith. Zekk was the Dark Jedi that created Onyx.

Zekk stumbled back, put off-balance by the discovery of his self-righteous attitude. _Just the same, hey, Ennth? Always chasing after things you can't have, turning your back on the things you need, and hiding behind your "Onyx made me do it" attitude when you realize what you've done. What in the galaxy did Jaina see in you, anyway? Did she like the colour of the river of denial?_

Brakiss took advantage of Zekk's distraction to attack once more, and though the younger man defended himself, each movement was a battle as his heart left the battle. It was pure luck that Zekk's lunge—sloppy and wild—made contact with the already loose throne. The extravagant, skeletal seat toppled onto its owner, sending Brakiss to tumble out of the nearby window.

Both Zekk and Sanar (who had managed to come out of her stupor long enough to hear the shattering glass) started. While Sanar drooped back over her look-alike, Zekk numbly moved to the window and looked out. A cloud of dust obscured what would have been Brakiss' point of contact.

The dark-haired man searched for even a flicker of remorse at Brakiss' death within himself, but he couldn't find it. The emperor had long been unmasked. Nothing remained of the Brakiss that Zekk had believed in as a child. Nothing…

A cry escaped him, and he all but collapsed against the wall.

There was nothing left of Brakiss—just as with Jacen, Anakin, Master Skywalker, and all the Jedi he had killed or sentenced to death, and…Jaina.

A hand on his shoulder made him start, and when he looked up, his eyes found the weary, struggling face of someone who looked eerily like Jaina, but older…harder. "What do you want?" he croaked, not caring that she—or anyone—could see him blubbering like a baby.

She slumped against the wall, as if it took all her strength to keep going on. Physical exhaustion clung to her like a leech. "What's my name?" she demanded, even as she looked like she was going to be physically ill.

He frowned, taken aback and momentarily distracted. When he realized that she was serious, he searched his mind. "Sa—Sanar?"

Her eyes closed and she swayed frightening, until he thought she would faint. Instead, she sank to the floor. "It might not be too late," she said in her faltering voice. "I—I think I can—bring her back. But I'll…" she shuddered, "need your help."

He stared at her, dumb with astonishment.

She held out her hand, and grasped it as tightly as she could. "Bond with me."

_

* * *

Under the water, things became a little clearer. The rope resisted all her frustrated yanks, though it was looking increasingly strained. As she watched, however, a wiry tendril of deep, emerald green twirled around the strained cord and grabbed hold of her waist. She gawked at it, at the possessive way it held onto her, refusing to let her go up for air._

_Spotting what could be the root of her problem, she bent, and pulled on the entwined cords (though the red was becoming fainter). They resisted, even when she whacked them. As she glared at them, she became aware of the tiny, insignificant detail that she was underwater_—_had been for some time_—_and her lungs weren't bursting._

_In confusion, she glanced around. Funny, she thought, this was not what she had imagined death would be like._

_Wait_—death?

_She froze. _Ohhhhhhhhh Sith,_ she thought. _I'm dead and rotting? Not good! Why hasn't the Solo luck kicked in yet?

_Solo luck._

_She racked her brains, searching for where she had gotten that idea_—_"Solo luck". An eerie echo of laughter slid into the water, and reached her ears._

_Anakin_—_Jacen_—_they were Solos_—_her brothers._

_Who was she?_

_Even as she tried to find the answer, she felt her feet sink into the sand._

**_Jaina_****_—your name is Jaina Solo,_**_ a voice whispered urgently._

_Perplexed, Jaina struggled against the cords, which were pulling her down…down…down into the sand. Already her knees were past the gritty surface, and all she felt below her thighs was pain. Uncomfortable, hideous, grating pain._

_She tried to fight against the cords and the sand both. **I don't want to go! Don't make me! Anakin and Jacen…**_

_The red faltered just a little, as if it could identity with her plea, but the green only continued on more forcefully. **Jaina, it's not… C'mon, don't do this, please.**_

I'm Jaina Solo; Jacen and Anakin are my brothers—and we're all dead.

Dead…why does that make me so mad?

_The red cord's indecision was a thing of the past. **Solo…don't you **_**dare****_ let go, got that? I'm hanging on here, too, you know and, personally, I'd like to live!_**

_She felt a smirk creep onto her face. _That's Sanar for you,_ she mused. _Saves your life one minute, smacks you the next…

Wait, Sanar? 

**_Yep, it's me, and if you don't just let yourself sink into that """sand""" of yours, I'm gonna wring your pretty little neck!_**

_She stared at the red cord with so much bewilderment that it took her a moment to realize her hips had disappeared into the sand. She panicked, and struggled against the pull, thrashing wildly as she tried to get up to the surface of the water._

**_Why don't you want to go?_**_ a voice queried._

**_Hurts…_**_ she moaned._

**_That's life._**

_The word "life" shot sparks through her blood and she almost felt like plunging into the sand at the mere idea. Sensing her changing mind, the green strand tightened reassuringly around her, and part of her relaxed._

**_Come back, Jaina,_**_ it whispered, the voice incredibly familiar. **I love you.**_

_Her head disappeared into the sand._

_And there was pain._

_

* * *

There is an old Jedi legend that if two Force-sensitive lovers bond within the River, which separates life and death, they will be bound together as one for eternity. Lesser degrees of this incredible bond are formed through the deep, enduring love of two Jedi, or even two non-Force sensitive beings. However, these "lesser" bonds can fade if they are improperly tended._

_A bond forged in the __River__ of __Life__ and Death can never be broken, even if the lovers part ways and claim hatred for the other. It may fade, become smaller, but it will always be there, with its same strength, ready to be taken up once more—because, once, one risked enough to plunge into their own death in order to save the other_, _and that is the greatest sacrifice of all_.

* * *

When Jaina screamed, Zekk's heart stopped. He wanted to cover his ears, but found he couldn't. It rang within his heart and mind—not a physical scream, but one through the Force. "She's in pain!" he exclaimed, staring at Jaina's jerking body. 

Sanar probably meant that weak sound to be a snort. "You're so naïve," she muttered. "Ever heard of the saying, 'life is pain'? Never a truer phrase."

"I didn't know she'd be hurt!" he snapped. "Not like this, anyway," he added a little sheepishly. It would do no good to yell at Sanar—if not for her, Jaina wouldn't even be alive. _But still…_

Sanar's eyes were beginning to droop. "Life's fire is pouring into her blood again, battling back the ice of death. Every part of her is melting in a way it doesn't want to; she was dead, and she accepted it—wanted it, even, I guess, considering she was the one to cut her life force. She could have been with her dead loved ones again, and it's never easy to turn that chance down. Her body closed down, but now life is screeching through her veins like lava, forcing closed passageways to reopen. It's not pain, it's hell—but she'll live."

"So you say," he muttered, eyeing Jaina worriedly. Her screams dimmed to moans, and then to silence.

Sanar perked up a little; colour returned to her skin and her eyes grew brighter. "You need to go now," she commanded Zekk, her voice almost normal again.

He looked up at her sharply. "But Jaina—"

"She's sleeping—and she will continue to do so for some time. You killed an emperor, Zekk; the aftermath of the attack has stemmed suspicion, but someone's going to remember to check the throne room eventually. Bonds can exist even in the Dark side, I assure you." Her chocolate eyes were grim.

"You'll have to carry her, of course," she continued, beginning to stand. She leaned only a little against the wall. "Use the servants' routes—I'm assuming you remember your way around?"

He had to search his mind for a moment, but he found the memories he needed, and nodded. Carefully, he positioned Jaina his arms, and stood.

Sanar watched the movement with just the smallest hint of strangeness on her pretty, tired face. "Do you have a ship?" she asked quietly, staring at Jaina.

He shifted. "Onyx—I," he corrected, "have a cruiser, if the docking bay wasn't bombed."

She nodded briskly, appearing to push aside her reaction to whatever had made her weird out. Zekk wasn't really paying attention to her. "They'll be here in a minute." When he didn't move, she scowled. "Oh honestly, get lost. You heroes are so damn annoying, you know that?"

He reddened a little. "What about you?"

She waved a hand dismissively and made her way to the window where Brakiss had fallen. "Don't worry about me. That's always been my job." She smiled, as if to reassure him, but it was unsuccessful.

"If you ever need help—"

Her eyes rolled in sarcasm. "Oh, yes, I know. Anything I want, because with Solo around you're allowed to be all sappy, right? Get out before I barf."

He blinked, put off by her sudden mood swing, but left.

Or—she thought with a sigh—he almost did. He just had to turn around one last time and say, "Thank you, Sanar. I'll never forget this."

She growled. "Whatever. Have fun with her family!" She brightened at the mere idea.

He sighed and left, just like she had expected—just like all the heroes who lived in a happy-ending fairy tale.

And Sanar waited.

* * *

Sanar was surprised to see that her brother—his handsome, aristocratic face ravaged, and a mad glint in his eyes—was the one to burst through the doors (not as successfully as Onyx, but then, that was a matter of opinion) fifteen minutes later. If she guessed rightly, he was about to yell for his master, and cry about his boo-boos before he saw her. 

The sight of his "niftyax sister" was more than enough to make him to remember his arrogance. "You!" he snarled.

"The Emperor's down there," she said smoothly, ignoring his hatred.

He growled; how could she always be so blasé about every _larifx_ thing? She knew how he hated it!

"That's the point," she returned smugly.

He glared at her a moment before processing what she'd just said. "The emperor's _what_?"

She smiled sweetly. "Down there." She pointed at the ground, where the crumpled black form of the (late?) emperor rested. Devnos ran to her side and looked down with wide eyes. "Who knows," she said earnestly, "if you really hurry, the med-team might be able to save his stinking hide." She paused, then sent her ringer. "Unfortunately, your face is probably a lost cause."

She could almost see the slap that waited in his hand. But his anger disappeared into horror. "You didn't—"

"Of course I didn't kill him," she replied simply, maintaining her calm façade. "Lord Onyx did."

He grabbed her by the arms and shook her. Her anger flared, but she hid it. "Where'd they go, _niftyax_?"

She tsk-ed. "Now, now, is that anyway to treat your sister, and your only chance of redeeming your complete ineptitude in the eyes of your potentially salvageable emperor?"

He growled. "Sanar, I can make your life very, very miserable."

"Well now, let me think," she said, ignoring him and tapping her forefinger to her chin. "It's so hard to remember…me being a stupid, air-headed bimbo of a _niftyax_ and all…"

This time, he shook her until her teeth rattled, and Sanar's temper pushed her cards, as he had probably known it would. "You don't have to be so mean," she scowled ill-temperedly. "They ran off—down the emperor's stairways—his secret ones," she explained, nodding pointedly at the tapestry that hung behind what remained of the emperor's throne.

His eyes narrowed. "And they let you stay."

She smirked. "Onyx had his hands full."

"With…?" Devnos demanded.

She pulled out of his grip and sprawled across the charred steps to the emperor's throne. "Oh, with that girl he's so taken with. She got in the way, you know. It's disgusting; he wouldn't let her go, even though I give her a few days 'til she's dead." Sanar snorted.

He continued to evaluate her with his eyes. Finally, he relented. "Stay here; I'm getting the emperor. If you so much as move…"

She sighed, bored. "I know, I know. You'll sell me to Horaire's brother, or something."

He glowered, but ran out the door, and Sanar finally relaxed.

"Brave of you," Durron's voice remarked from behind her.

She was too tired to snap at him. Turning her back on her mother, living through a Rebel attack, watching a soul duel, saving Solo's life, and lying to Devnos, was more than usually fit into her schedule. "What was it you said about that redemption trash?" she murmured, staring at the servants' exit.

Durron clomped down the stairs (odd, really, how he could still clomp…) and sat down next to her. She cringed away, but only a little, and just out of habit.

"Everyone has a shot at redemption," he repeated gently, as if he actually believed what he was saying. "You just have to reach out and grab it, before it's gone."

She sighed, let the words wash over her. For a brief moment, she let herself forget who she was dealing with, and what she had done. "If there is such a thing, then let me find my redemption," she whispered. "Force knows I need it."

And then, even though it was a sign of weakness, Sanar wept.

**

* * *

Epilogue coming up very shortly. Please R&R!**

**-Tjz**


	16. Epilogue

**Jaina-Elessar**: Thanks! Jaina is out of the woods; she's just exhausted because of the trip out :P And cliffhangers are one of the big perks of being an author. –g–

**

* * *

Epilogue**:

Things were blurry in Jaina-world—foggy and painful—but she forced her eyes open anyway. She had to see—had to make sure.

Her eyes skittered for a moment before her conscious mind realized what her unconscious needed. For a moment, she didn't see him.

For a moment, she panicked. _Was it a dream? Oh, please, don't let it be a dream—it_ couldn't _be a dream…_

And then he was there, walking slowly back into the room with a mug of caf. His black hair was loose and messy; she revelled in the change from its former, tightly precise style. His face was haggard, but it wasn't flinty or impassive, so she felt her heart rise. She hadn't failed—her mother had been wrong.

Zekk…her Zekk…was right before her, alive and in control.

She tried to whisper his name, but her throat was arid, and only a dry cough came out.

His head snapped up at the sound, and she had the feeling that he had done so many times—hoping he had heard proof of her life, but crashing down into reality when he didn't. When he saw her watching him, his eyes widened and ten years dropped off of his face. "You're awake," he whispered, as if expected her to cringe from the sound.

She rubbed her throat as her eyes watered. The thirst was getting worse. He picked it up. But, she thought, of course he did. Their bond was wide open, and even as weak as she was, she knew she would feel his every thought if she just reached out.

"Water—of course—sorry," he apologized. "Of course you'd be thirsty. Just a minute." He disappeared into what she assumed was a kitchenette, then came back with a large glass of water. She sat up (had it always taken so much energy to do that?) and accepted the glass with a "thanks", before downing the whole thing in a few, big gulps.

He took the glass back. "You're still tired, I suppose."

She couldn't deny it—someone could have been buried in the bags under her eyes. "Maybe a little."

He nodded and she wiggled down the bed, until she was once again on her back. Immediately, her eyes started to droop. He hesitated a moment, then kissed her on the cheek. "I'll see you in the morning," he said—whispering again.

She smiled as the darkness overwhelmed her.

_In the morning…_

_Checkmate, Onyx._

**

* * *

The next book, "Caught in the Rain," will be put up soon :) Until then, please R&R! Even you lurkers? Please…feedback makes my day. Thanks to everyone who's been reading/replying to this story!  
**

**-Tjz**


	17. Book Two: Caught in the Rain

**Always II: Caught in the Rain** **  
By Trickster-jz**

**

* * *

Disclaimer**: I own the plot, Sanar and Devnos and the rest of the Klis family, Garik Klamath, Tiran Lee-droy, Cerasy, Aarylia, Falat, Na'Lein'yhpaon and Kip (kind of) and any other previously unknown characters/planets. Everything you recognize (well, from the actual books) belongs to George Lucas or Kevin J. Anderson. I am not making any money off of this, so please do not sue.

**Summary**: The more black-and-white redemption was won with Onyx's demise, but that is never the end. Zekk and Jaina have returned to Hapes, where Jaina's family, the remaining Jedi and the New Rebellion awaits them. Some will understand and believe Zekk's redemption – others will not. As Zekk leaves for the more difficult stage of his redemption, alone, he is unaware that the emperor – surviving only on his hatred – has demanded his disloyal Darkest Knight's head on a platter. The Dark Jedi Devnos Klis is determined to prove his competence, and hatches a plan to lure Zekk in. Kept nearby is a wild card: Sanar Klis, who is, herself, searching for a redemption she doesn't completely believe in. Whether or not she will foil her brother's plans and step back into the Light remains to be watched over by an unlikely guardian: the spirit form of Kyp Durron. All the while, Jaina Solo is back at a home she barely recognizes, trying to come to terms with the changes her death and resurrection have wrought within her.  
Redemption – wild cards – evil – romance… Hold on, y'all – it's going to be one wild ride.  
**  
Genres**: drama, romance, angst, action  
**  
Keywords**: redemption, consequences, wild cards, rebirth  
**  
Author's Note**: this is the sequel to my fic "Dejarik"

**A2**: The title was inspired by the song of the same name by Revis. I found it on the "Daredevil" soundtrack and knew I had my title, though the lyrics don't fit exactly – just the mood did. I nearly called this "Can't Stop Loving You" (after the song by Phil Collins), so that deserves some recognition as well.

**_

* * *

Dramatis Personae_**

**The New Rebellion and the Jedi**:  
_Jaina Solo_ – female human, Jedi Knight, New Rebellion colonel  
_Zekk_ – male human, formerly Lord Onyx of the Sith and Darkest Knight of the New Empire.  
_Kyp Durron_ – male human, Jedi Master (deceased)  
_Leia Organa Solo_ – female human, New Rebellion diplomat  
_Garik Klamath_ – male human, New Rebellion diplomat; Jaina's childhood friend  
_Aarylia_ – human girl, Jedi Apprentice; orphan_  
Kip_ – male clone, Jedi soldier; created by the Empire  
_Miko Reglia_ – male human, Jedi Knight, former Dark Jedi, Intelligence operative  
_Krista Harif_ – female human, currently an Intelligence team leader; _also_: smuggler, pilot, mechanic  
_Han Solo_ – male human, New Rebellion General  
_Tenel Ka Chume Ta' Djo_ – female human, Jedi Knight, princess and heir apparent of the Hapan Throne  
_Tiran__ Lee-droy_ – male human, Jedi Knight, mechanic; native of Lin-Ta

**The "Greys"**:  
_Sanar Klis_ – female human; Imperial slave, daughter of Jarran and Caesarea Klis. Native of Na'Lein'yhpaon, a male-dominated planet.  
_Cerasy_ – female human, bounty hunter  
_Ta'a Chume Djo_ – Regent Queen of the Hapes Consortium

**The Empire**:  
_Emperor Brakiss_ – male human, Lord of the Sith; under the guise of Palpatine  
_Devnos Klis_ – male human, Dark Jedi; Sanar's older brother  
_Falat__ Yn'paw_ – male human, Dark Jedi  
_Satix__ Zapini_ – female changeling, assassin

**Other, "Smaller" Characters**:  
_Jarran Klis_ – male human; Sanar's father (deceased)  
_Clayra Klis_ – female human; Sanar's little sister  
_Wedge __Antilles_ – male human, New Rebellion General  
_Jacen Solo_ – male human, Jedi Knight (deceased)  
_Anakin Solo_ – male human, Jedi Knight (deceased)  
_Gryq__ Harif_ – male human, combat specialist; Krista's older brother  
_Lusa_ – female centaur, Jedi Knight; in self-enforced isolation  
_Caesarea__ Klis_ – female human; Sanar's mother  
_Tayra__ Lam_ – female human, New Rebellion pilot  
_Raynar__ Thul_ – male human, Jedi Knight (deceased)

**

* * *

-Tjz**


	18. Prologue

**Jaina-Elessar**: -laughs- I was editing "Dejarik," so it went pretty slowly, I admit…"Caught in the Rain" doesn't have that blockage, though, so hopefully the chapters will be put up more quickly. Thanks for reading!

**Terin**: thanks! Here's the prologue, and chapter one should be along shortly. :)

**Mistress Eden**: I agree about the Jaina/Zekk stories… I have noticed an increase on the JCF, though, if you're brave enough to venture there, lol. Here, though, might I suggest Jade-Max? She's the one who helped re-convert me to J/Z… I hope you keep reading. -_g_-

**DogDemon4040**: Thanks!

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If you've been getting a few update alerts from this fic, I apologize -- ff.n deleted the first two chapters (...), and I had to re-upload/add them. Take this new, real chap in apology?

Also, "Caught in the Rain" has shorter chapters (which get longer…) than "Dejarik", but because they need less work, I'll be updating a lot more frequently now. Well, that's the plan, anyway… Enjoy!

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**Prologue**:

The crumpled form on the metal slab was moving.

Sanar hugged herself tightly, and tried to look away, but found she could not. Her eyes were glued in horrified fascination on the corpse-that-was-not-dead. Her only contact with the being was through a vid-screen, yet still she felt the maligned evil wash off of the being, strangling even her – a hardened slave, who had seen too much, and fallen deep into corruption herself.

_I am corrupted_, she thought with a shudder, _but that body is a vessel for the most evil and vindictive spirit I've ever seen – even more than Horaire ever was._

Beside her, she felt her brother, who thought himself so brave, who held himself so arrogantly in the Dark, become anxious.

_Even Devnos feels and fears it,_ Sanar wondered. Childhood instinct wanted to reach out and grab her brother's hand for comfort, but her survivor instincts negated the desire immediately.

The being sat up, and its red eyes blazed into the vid-screen.

Devnos moved as if to put a protective arm around Sanar, but he, too, negated the instinct. Around them, a few key members of the New Empire shifted in trepidation.

"Find him," the emperor hissed, literally shaking with hatred. "Find the one who called himself Lord Onyx and bring him to me! Do not rest until I have his head!"

Sanar couldn't watch anymore. The idea of someone actually living off of their hatred – resurrecting in a medical miracle, that could not even remotely be classed as a miracle – and revelling in it, was too much. She ran out of the viewing room and emptied her dinner into a wastebasket.

She doubted she was the only one.

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Short. Very short… Chapter One is coming soon, though :)

Please R&R!

Tjz


	19. Ch1: Meet Planet Bob

**Jaina-Elessar**: Brakiss _is_ alive—unfortunately, the nasty bugger just can't stay dead. Thanks for reading!

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Alright, I never consciously thought of it, but the whole name-a-planet-"Bob" idea was inspired by "Titan A.E." I think… Someone pointed it out when I posted this, and since I've seen the movie…well, I probably borrowed it. :P

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**Chapter One: Meet Planet Bob**

She was sitting at the edge of a small cliff, over the water, just where he'd know she would be. She appeared unaware of the gusty storm that was starting; her mind was clearly elsewhere.

Zekk hesitated, but knew they couldn't continue to put it off. "Jaina," he spoke. She didn't turn around. "The ship's ready."

She nodded and threw a pebble into the lake. He smiled faintly; they both had the ripples of that water memorized by now. With a sigh, she stood, and he appraised her carefully. The wounds she had sustained – emotional, more than physical – had mostly healed after three weeks on this planet, which had no real name (Jaina had nicknamed it "Bob", for some reason). But it still took more strength than it should have for her to stand. Her skin – pale when they arrived – had bronzed, and her normally dark hair sported gold highlights. Her gait was more graceful – an adjective she earned from climbing all over the place with ease, despite the harsh settings and Zekk's cautionary pleas. The shadows and lines on her face had disappeared, and a smile was fixed on her face.

She snorted. "You can stop looking at me like I'm going to fall apart," she said, making her way across the stony area. "We Solos heal fast."

He rolled his eyes, but his face was grimmer than hers. "Most of you Solos haven't died and come back to life," he replied.

She shrugged and grinned. "Well, now one of us has." She nudged him. "It's not like you got off so easily yourself."

He considered her for a moment, his mind going back to that final duel with Brakiss. He had come out the victor, but it had only been by luck, and he had taken a beating first. Helping Sanar resurrect Jaina hadn't done wonders for his health, either.

"Huh, you liked it," Jaina teased, picking up on his thoughts. "All I wanted was to get some rest, and you kept pulling…my spirit still has bruises." She winked. "Now stop looking like you're going to your execution. We're returning on your insistence, and I'm the only one allowed to complain."

He reached out to take her hand as they walked up the ship's ramp. "It's easier to be insistent when you're arguing," he admitted.

She sighed and looked around one last time. For almost a month, she and Zekk had stayed here, and she knew she would always remember it as a haven. "Well, we probably would have gone a little stir-crazy here after a while anyway," she said unconvincingly.

"You're right," he agreed weakly, suddenly bombarded by an image of the impulsive, trigger-happy Han Solo finding out about his and Jaina's month together. _Just so long as he doesn't find out about the hut on the water, we should be alright_, he thought with a wince. "But I think I'll add 'Bob' to the ship's flight database anyway," he finished.

"Already did," Jaina reassured him as the ramp of the ship rose and they entered the cockpit. "It was one of the few things that still needed to be fixed after you went at it with an axe and scrubber," she snickered.

"I wanted to get rid of Onyx," he muttered, flushing a little.

She squeezed his hand. "You already did." She paused, and wrinkled her nose in distaste. "Of course, I _am_ glad you got rid of the overly black stuff – not to mention the questionable amount of mirrors in that bedroom…"

He blushed all the harder at the memory. "I think Onyx had a few vanity issues," he mumbled, replacing the "I" with the safe name of his (late) Dark persona, knowing that, if he didn't, Jaina would become upset.

The relationship between Zekk and Onyx had been the only topic Jaina and Zekk hadn't discussed while on "Bob". "When we go back out there," Jaina had said, "we'll have to deal with all of it, over and over again. Can't we just leave it until then?" She had floundered a moment before continuing. "For the first time in years, I've been able to relax, and just be with you again – I love you – don't ruin it, please…"

And, with the memory of her quiet grieving for Jacen still assaulting his own heart, he had agreed. _So what if she doesn't want to face it yet?_ he had asked himself. In truth, he had been relieved to not hear what she thought.

"Hey," Jaina said, interrupting his thoughts. "You still here?"

He shook his head ruefully and kissed her cheek. "Time to go."

Her smile was forced. "It'll be alright, Zekk. I mean, come on, what's my family compared to Brakiss, Onyx, the Dark side, and paralysis?"

Zekk thought it best not to answer that one.

"Don't be a pessimist," Jaina instructed, feeling his doubt, but the quaver in her voice gave her own anxiety away. "I'll protect you from the big bad Solo family."

He sighed and punched the coordinates for Corellia into the hyperspace console. "Huh," he replied.

As they buckled in, Zekk decided not to explain that he wouldn't be needing her protection for long.

_-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-0-_

Again, it's short, but updates will be faster, and the chaps will get longer.

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	20. Ch2: Anxiety

**Terin**: Thanks!

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

**Chapter Two: Anxiety**

Jaina held her breath as the lines of hyperspace stretched, then shrank into stars. Zekk was dozing in a nearby chair, so she typed in the coordinates for the Hapes Consortium. Her fingers shook a little, but she succeeded in making the ship hurtle onward once more. Taking a quivering breath, she sat back.

She was nervous.

She hadn't expected to be – but then, she hadn't really thought of returning to her family and friends since before her death.

Correction: she hadn't allowed herself to dwell on how they might react to her.

Returning with Zekk would bring expected results – suspicion, anger, bitterness and hatred – but her own homecoming was a wild card.

Jaina Solo had died. With Sanar's help, she had been brought back, but she wasn't the girl she had been before. Jaina had seen and felt things that no one was supposed to see or feel – at least, not while they were alive.

Despite the flippant attitude she radiated to Zekk, the fact that she had cheated death weighed heavily on her. How would her father react, when he realized that Jaina was mostly playing along, acting like her old self, so that people wouldn't worry? Would her friends pull away, afraid that she wasn't even Jaina anymore?

What if they thought she was possessed? After all, it was a distinct possibility, considering…

Jaina had returned with her life only after being one with the Force; she had found the strength to fight back only after being taken deep into two other people's minds. She didn't look at the world like she used to; she felt ripples that no one else felt; her sensitivity to the Force had grown.

Zekk worried that the New Republic would never forgive him; Jaina lost sleep over whether or not they would isolate her – call her an abomination – even execute her. Despite how she tried to reassure herself that no one would do that, even if only for the sake of her heritage and her physical appearance, the idea taunted her.

_Abomination… Are you possessed, you-who-should-be-dead? Are you really Jaina Solo, or something else?_

She clamped her hands over her ears as she concentrated on vaporizing the words. _I_ am _Jaina Solo. I have parts of two other people, but I am still Jaina Solo, and I always will be! My core will never change._

The unpleasant voice of her fear laughed. _So you think…_

_So you think._

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

_Solo is afraid._ The thought came to Sanar like a slap, and she stumbled a little. Why did she know that? It wasn't as if she and the Jedi were close; in fact, they'd come pretty close to scratching each others' eyes out. And yet the younger woman's anxiety was as clear as a bell in Sanar's mind.

It didn't take her a moment to realize why it was so. _The bonding – of course. Kriff! I knew I'd regret that!_ When Solo had died, Sanar had reached out and desperately tried to save the girl. As Zekk had been too impassioned and grief-stricken at the time, the only way Sanar had been able to anchor – and thus save – Solo was to take the Jedi deep into her own mind, until Solo had seen everything Sanar knew or had experienced and vice-versa.

It had saved Jaina, but an irate Sanar decided that the success wasn't necessarily worth the consequences.

"Sanar! Hurry up," Devnos snapped.

_Speaking of consequences,_ Sanar scowled as she continued on. "I'm coming, I'm coming; keep your shirt on."

Satisfied that his sister was doing what she was told – for once – the Dark Jedi turned back to his fellow Imperial – muttering something about "Onyx's" capture, no doubt. Though she knew it was Devnos' sole way of salvaging his competence in the eyes of his emperor, Sanar was heartily sick of Devnos' obsession with bringing Onyx to his death.

_Whatever happened to his artistic side?_ the slave wondered with a sigh, but decided she really didn't want to know.

"…But how?" Falat was asking. "Onyx has disappeared completely; unless he is foolish enough to prance around, shouting his name for the whole galaxy, in the middle of Coruscant, it is unlikely that we will find him."

Sanar grinned and shook her head at the idea. Something in the innocent gesture caught Devnos' attention; an idea kept it. Uncomfortable under his stare, Sanar shifted. "What?" she demanded. "Is it against the law to smile now?"

A calculating expression dominated her brother's face, and growing triumph could be felt in the Force. "Sanar, what was the name of Onyx's other slave? The one that looked like you, but younger."

" 'The one that looked like me'?" Sanar repeated sarcastically. "Don't be a Neanderthal; I know you've see Onyx's little harem – they _all_ resemble me, one way or another."

"You know exactly which one I mean," Devnos said, his eyes narrowing in intimidation.

With a sinking feeling, the slave understood the plan Devnos had hatched. "Oh, Jay-Something," she said dismissively, crossing her arms. In the back of her mind, a bond stirred; Sanar blocked it.

Now Falat was studying her, recognition beginning to dawn. "Would that be Jaina Solo?" he suggested, eyes dark.

Devnos shot his colleague a look. "The name is familiar to you?"

Filat hitched his pants self-importantly as he donned a bored expression. "_Everyone_ knows about the Solos – how can you honestly work for the Empire and not recognize the name?"

At the man's words, Sanar recalled Solo's incredulity when she had realized Sanar didn't recognize the Jedi's name. "We grew up on a rather…remote planet," Sanar replied over Devnos' proud indignation. "And Devnos always was a little off in his own world – writers, you know. I take it the Solos are some key rebellion leaders?" the slave calculated.

Falat snorted. "The Solos _are_ the Rebellion," he growled. "Jaina Solo is one of the few left – her brothers have been successfully taken care of, as have her aunt and uncle – Skywalkers. Her parents and she won't be far behind, if the Empire has its way."

"Onyx's love interest was the daughter of Rebel 'heroes'?" Devnos mused, raising an eyebrow, his eyes dark with plans. "Interesting."

_Sorry Devy-Boy, but it's time for your party to experience a little crash and burn,_ Sanar thought. "Even if that slave was Jaina Solo, she was almost dead the last time I saw her – head injuries can do that to a person."

Devnos' triumph deflated. "Of course; I remember now."

Falat scowled. "No; the Solos all have nine lives. It took Onyx years to pin down the younger brother; the Emperor himself killed Jaina's twin. And we'll not get into how the Skywalker lucky streak lasted twenty years. Your knowledge of the Empire is woefully inadequate for such a…powerful follower of the Empire."

Sanar would have patted Falat on the back for such a stinging slap to Devnos' arrogance, but a dangerous glance from her brother hinted that he expected such an act, and so she stayed still. The best way to deal with Devnos, she had found, was to keep him unbalanced.

"It would be wise, Falat," Devnos said through clenched teeth, "to watch your words to one so high in favour."

Sanar snorted. "Devnos," she said condescendingly as she continued on down the hall, "you have no idea what you're getting yourself into, do you?"

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	21. Ch3: Super Star Destroyers and Tensions

**Chapter Three: Super Star Destroyers and Tension**

Garik Klamath was having an excruciatingly, mind-destroyingly boring day. He wasn't quite sure what had possessed him to concede his participation in the makeshift "Senate", but if he ever discovered it, he swore he was going to pull a Kyp Durron and blow it to kingdom come.

The questionable would-be politicians were, in the middle of a war, discussing whether or not some anonymous, rarely-ever-noticed planet should have its taxes raised.

Garik would have loved to blow them all into kriffing oblivion, then dump what was left of them and their grandiose houses into a nearby volcano. Unfortunately, transportation was a bit of an issue.

_Super Star Destroyer?_ he wondered, tapping his chin. The other senators thought he was pondering deeply on the matter of taxes – which was how the only real diplomat in the room wanted it_. Super Super Star Destroyer? Do they even make those? And can they come into the atmosphere? Hm…I'll have to ask Lowbacca, I suppose._

"Diplomat Klamath, do you have anything to add?" Several portly humans and aliens turned to see the young man in question.

_Yes, teacher, what does war-plus-stupid leaders equal?_ "While the matter of Epiws' taxes is, of course, one that requires attention," Garik said smoothly, not belying his anger, "perhaps we should discuss the effort to aid the Kuat refugees. Now that the Empire has invaded their planet, there will be many that need to escape."

One or two had the grace to look embarrassed, but others were still very concerned about their next paycheque.

_If there isn't something big enough to do the job, I'll make a Super Super Star Destroyer with my bare hands,_ Garik thought in disgust.

"We will discuss that after the recess," a Rodian agreed.

Despite an entire lifetime spent in the political arena and his tutorage under some of the most brilliant philosophers, etiquette, etc, professors in the galaxy, Garik couldn't hide his snort of disgust. He had more experience in this area than most of these beings put together. It was enough to make the normally laid-back man cynical. A large percentage of the beings had entered politics only during the war, when all the experienced and at least somewhat well-meaning politicians had been killed or imprisoned.

And, yet, Garik thought viciously, some Rodian with two years backing was ordering _him_ around?

_If I was any more sensitive to the corruption of this so-called Senate_, he thought, just barely keeping his anger in check, _I would weep for the galaxy when the New Rebellion is victorious._

He checked his chrono hopefully, only to plunge back into despair. Still forty-five minutes until recess.

_This meeting is going to be very, very long_.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Jaina took a deep breath, then _nudged_ Zekk with her mind. _Time to wake up, sleepy head._

He stirred, and his green eyes slowly pulled themselves open to focus on Jaina. His lips curved into an instant, reflexive smile before retreating into realization. With a sharp movement, he was standing, unconsciously tensing until she thought he might break, if struck the wrong way.

Zekk glanced at the viewport anxiously. "How much longer?"

She slipped into his arms and let out a slow, deep sigh. "About fifteen minutes until we have to land. Maybe ten minutes before the Hapan security calls in."

He nodded, his grip on her tightening momentarily. "Any predictions from the bond seer?" he queried.

She gave him a look. "Really, Zekk; just because Sanar was one…"

"All I know is, you couldn't whistle before we bonded."

"I just didn't know how, before," she protested. "It doesn't mean anything. I'm still _me_. I haven't changed _that_ much."

Not having expected this reaction, Zekk blinked. "I didn't mean – "

She shook her head. "Sorry – I'm just a little nervous about seeing everyone again." Before he could reassure her, Jaina was hurrying on. "I would have told you if I _Saw_ anything." She tipped her head back, smirking a little. "Imagining futures doesn't count."

"Well," he returned, "you never know if they mean something…"

He was still being serious, Jaina noted with a grin. "Don't worry; I won't let them kill you," she told him, only half-kidding.

"Jay, be realistic." He sighed, pulling away to sit back down. "You're a Jedi, not the embodiment of the Force." Jaina raised an eyebrow, thinking about her past experiences in that vein. He continued, ignoring her. "If the New Republic wanted to kill me, you couldn't stop them."

For a moment, Jaina's eyes changed and her face darkened, until she looked nothing like the girl Zekk had known before his turning. "You'd be surprised; Sanar was incredibly knowledgeable on how to protect someone. While I would be able to go through less than half of her…'desperate measures' list, there are plenty that would give the Rebellion – and even my mother – the right to second-guess themselves."

He smiled and leaned down to place a soft kiss on the corner of her mouth. "My little protector," he teased.

Jaina's nose scrunched up playfully. "Little? Who you calling little? You're not _that_ – " A raised eyebrow from Zekk caused her to pick a different protest. "At least I can fit through normal sized doorways, Giant."

"Well, 'fee fi fo fum'," he intoned ominously, though his smile was growing.

"Ooh…how scary," she giggled, pulling away. "Excuse me while I get on the Hero Hotline. They arrive within seven minutes."

"Seven minutes?" he repeated, his expression becoming mock-evil. "Well, that doesn't give me much time, does it…?"

She pretended to cower away, teasing light in her eyes, impish twist in her lips. "Don't hurt me!"

She was barely aware of when he moved, but there he was, holding her tight and tipping her back ever so slightly. "Never," he breathed before leaning in.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Garik was still working off steam when he found himself in the wrong wing of the Palace. "Kriff!" he exclaimed in a clipped voice. A moment of studying the nearest intersection told him he had wandered until he was almost at the landing bay. Propelled by curiosity (maybe the mechanics would know if there was such a thing as a Super Super Star Destroyer?), he strode down the hall and into the open area, blinking at the change in lighting.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

The beeping was getting irritating and really breaking into Jaina's concentration.

The Hapans had the worst time in the galaxy, Jaina finally admitted as she reluctantly pulled away. Zekk brought her back into his arms, his lips finding hers again, greedily. She giggled. "Zekk!" she shrieked. "Zekk – stop – I've got to…the comm…"

Blindly, he stopped the ship. "We're still out of the atmosphere," he whispered huskily as his mouth found the tender spot between her neck and her jaw.

Instinctively, her arms tightened around his waist as she felt her knees get rubbery. "Zekk…"

The sound changed from beeping to a human voice. "Unidentified craft, please state your name and intention." Several translations followed.

The two adults started at the sound of another voice, before pulling away, pink-cheeked and grinning like mischievous children. Jaina had to clear her throat before she replied, "This is the _Second Chance_, piloted by Colonel Jaina Solo." Jaina turned to wink at Zekk. She could just imagine the officer's expression.

There was a pause, then hurried clicking. "Of – of course, Miss Solo. Docking bay A183, please. Enjoy your stay at Hapes."

Jaina clicked the comm in confirmation, then sat back, eyebrow cocked at Zekk and with a contented light in her eyes. "Well, let's take this hunk of junk down."

Zekk snatched a kiss before sitting down next to her. "I love you," he said tenderly.

It was a change from the atmosphere set moments ago, and she blushed, surprised, before returning his smile. "You better," she murmured.

"So relax," he replied. "It'll be okay." _For you, anyway._

She frowned at his silent addition, but didn't argue. "I think it will," she said, glancing out at the stars. "But I can't help but be…well, slightly more than nervous."

He reached out and brushed a stray lock behind her ear. "Hey, even if they murder me, you have Garik or your parents to protect you; and trust me, they'll need to take me out before anyone else needs to look out for you."

She chuckled, though her face was strained. "I wish you wouldn't talk like that."

"You're really not the one to talk, Miss Oh Why Don't I Cut Off My Own Life Force," he retorted.

She twisted suddenly and leaned closer, her brow furrowed. "Promise you'll be careful?"

He answered by drawing her into a deep, tender kiss. _For you, anything_, he whispered into her mind as they both relaxed in the others' arms. After a moment, he pulled away, resting his forehead on hers. "You might want to get straightened up before you meet your parents again, though," he suggested with a grin, trying to distract them both from the mood that was overtaking them.

Her eyes widened, and she pulled away, glancing at her reflection in a blank screen before her. The sight of her mussed hair, silly grin and wrinkled coat received a reaction. "Good grief!" she exclaimed, rising quickly. "Why didn't you tell me earlier?"

"I thought you looked cute."

"Well, my dad certainly wouldn't agree with you! Do you _want_ him to kill you?" she retorted before closing the 'fresher door behind her.

He chuckled, and prepared the ship for landing.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	22. Ch4: Reunions with a Ghost

**Jaina-Elessar**: thanks! Han would definitely not agree, lol. His blaster, even less so, _-g-_. I'm glad you're enjoying the Jaina/Zekk :)

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

**Chapter Four: Reunions With a Ghost**

**_-x-x-x-_**

Garik waited impatiently as the Hapan officer hailed a ship. _Come on; it won't take long,_ he groused.

"Of – of course, Miss Solo," he heard the short man stutter. "Docking bay A183, please. Enjoy your stay at Hapes."

The diplomat frowned; wasn't Mrs. Organa Solo on planet already? Why…

He froze. The officer had said "Miss" Solo. _Miss_ Solo. As in unmarried. As in young.

_Jaina!_

He grabbed the officer's arm. "Which landing bay did you direct them to?" he demanded.

The portly man blinked. "Uh – docking bay A183 – "

Garik barely remembered to thank the man before dashing to the front area reserved for important guests. His mind swirled. Jaina – here? It wasn't possible – was it? But Aarie…!

He didn't recognize the ship, but he knew Jaina well enough to expect she had made an escape with the enemy's ship.

If it was Jaina.

But no – there she was, jumping down the flight of stairs like she always did, a huge (albeit somewhat anxious) grin on her face. He saw her raise a hand to shade her eyes from the sun; she spotted him and ran over. "Rik!" she almost cried.

Garik didn't dare believe it; it was a trick…a cruel, ruthlessly intelligent trick, hatched by the Empire…

She flew into his stunned arms. When he didn't respond, she stepped back, searching his eyes. "Rik, it's _me_," she whispered, quiet desperation in her eyes. "Rik?"

He forced himself to blink. "They felt you die."

Jaina faltered, and when she next spoke, her voice was more subdued. "Who did?"

"Aarylia. Tiran. The other Jedi. We had your _funeral_."

She swallowed. "They were right; the Force never lies." She was apprehensive now; her hands fidgeted. "I can't – I can't explain right now, but it's me. I'm alive."

_I'm alive._ Tentatively, he reached out and stroked her cheek.

She felt real; her skin wasn't like Kip's – it wasn't too dry and inhuman. Could it…?

But he trusted his eyes. Solo – his best friend for years – was right there, when she was supposed to be dead. Was that a Jedi thing? He hadn't seen it before.

Pushing aside his doubts, Garik swept her into as tight a hug as he could manage. He felt her melt into the embrace, and he noticed, dimly, that his eyes were welling up. He willed the tears back. When he was in control of himself again, he used his sternest voice to say, "Kriff it, Solo, if you _ever_ get it in your crazy head to do that again I'll – "

She laughed, sounding caught between hysteria and joy. "I know. Trust me, I know."

He released her, but stayed close, still unable to believe that she wasn't a mirage. "Your family is in the palace." He laughed, as close to giddy as he came. "I'm surprised your mother isn't here yet."

Jaina's smile flickered a little at the mention of her mother. "I'm not. But just wait – there's someone else with me…"

Garik followed her gaze, but did not in any way copy her smile.

Onyx.

_Why the kriff did I think I wouldn't need a blaster!_

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Jaina realized immediately that she had made a mistake in not warning Garik. He would be the last to try to throttle Zekk, but the war had cost him, just like everyone else. Vuthar Klamath – Garik's father – had been killed for openly resisting the New Empire within the Senate. Meanwhile, his sister was on a secret planet, hoping no one would find her and try to use her against her diplomatically powerful brother.

Zekk approached them hesitantly, his eyes skittering every which way. She wanted to fly into his arms and reassure him it would be okay; they had to understand, didn't they? Jaina hadn't died so that Zekk would be hurt for Onyx's crimes.

Garik's grip on her arm tightened, and he tensed. "Solo," he said in a low, dangerous voice. "Jaina _Solo_."

She winced. "Yes?"

"_What_ is Onyx doing here?"

She didn't have to look at him to know his jaw was working furiously, and that he was giving Zekk The Look that melted 99.9999 of the galaxy into a puddle of guilt. She drew on the Force and felt it wrap around her in a way it never had before her death. "_Zekk_ is here as a refugee of life," she replied as calmly as she could.

Deliberately, Garik released her arm. When she glanced up, she saw his face smooth into his "Senate" expression – while still incorporating a glare, of course.

Suddenly, Jaina was very grateful that Garik had been the first one to see Zekk. As a diplomat, Garik's only weapon was his razor-sharp brain – not that his mind was anything to relax around, when he wanted to wound. But Garik would not attack; he was a mediator, not a fighter. At least, he had been, when she last saw him. But war changed so many…

No, he was not reaching for a blaster, merely continuing to give Zekk The Eye that more than just insinuated the recipient was lower than a politician, in Garik's eyes. It was comforting.

_Better not say anything_, she suggested to Zekk through their bond. _You can trust Garik for the most part, but you don't want to get on his bad side._

She could hear his responding, anxious chuckle. _Jay, I grew up with you guys, remember? I_ saw _what he did to that gang when they tried to attack us._

That, she thought with a wince, was exactly why she was worried about her _parents'_ reaction.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Leia Organa Solo looked into the mirror and realized that she was old. That really was grey – and even some white – in her hair; sometime, when she hadn't been looking, creases had become wrinkles and crow eyes.

Sometime, she had lost three children.

It was not a pleasant epiphany, but one she could not refute, despite the young life that grew in her belly. Feeling Luke disappear in the Force with all the subtlety of a supernova had turned her face into a prune. Losing Anakin – that had brought her grey hair. Jacen's death was the one that had reversed the growth process. And Jaina's end, before Leia could reconcile with her…

She sighed. When had she become prone to such melancholy? Perhaps it was from being pregnant again; her hormones had always gone insane before birth. But five months in used to be the calm before the storm.

_I'm old_, she thought again. _Too many wars and too many losses… When did my strength begin to fail?_

She straightened precisely two seconds before the knock sounded in the Solo quarters. Luke would have been proud of her. Leia's melancholy retreated, leaving only the princess that had refused to cry when she saw her planet destroyed.

Exiting the bedroom, she glided across the plush carpet. She only had time to wonder if it was another summons from the Hapan court for advice before her universe rearranged itself.

Before her universe became one with a daughter again.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	23. Ch5: Tired Enough to Believe

**Jaina-Elessar**: next chapter is reunion time. ;) I'm afraid Zekk isn't going to have an easy time of it, though…

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

**Chapter Five: Tired Enough to Believe**

**_x-x-x-x-x_**

Sanar was trying to ignore him, but when he began to wander around her room, poking things and making those "huh…hm…" sounds every other second, she gave up. "I didn't know you were interested in dolls, Devy-boy," she remarked dryly.

He looked up from the wood-and-cloth doll Clayra had given her. "To retain childhood's simplicity is to remain ever pure and ever sharp," he replied sweetly.

The corners of her mouth pointed to the ground, and she snapped her book closed. "You can stop talking like a poet now," she snapped. If there was one thing Sanar hated, it was when Devnos acted like…well, like her brother. "Just say what you came to say and get it over with it. I'm at the good part."

He leaned over to see the title, then raised an eyebrow. "'Soul: A Collection of Triumph'?" Before he could remember who had written it, she shoved the book under her jacket, which she had laid across her bed. Instead of replying to his sneer, she raised her dark eyes to his, daring him to continue stalling. "You know, that really sets our conversation up nicely," Devnos started. She gave him a look. "Really." "Sanar, what was it Jarran used to tell you about your Force talents?" Her hands snapped into fists and she glared at Devnos until her eyes hurt. "You mean," she said through clenched teeth, "what did _Father_ used to say?" She searched for – and found – the tiniest flinch in his eyes. "He said I was empathetic in the Force." 

Devnos twisted and then straightened his jaw. It was a childhood habit that he displayed whenever he was uncertain.

Sanar felt definite pleasure at the thought.

"You always bonded easily with others," Devnos said finally.

Her mind shut down. Of course. "And?" she said flatly, turning away to look for a different book.

He grabbed her by the shoulders and spun her around. "Don't be stupid; you're many disgraceful things, but you've never been that. You spent sufficient time around that Solo girl; you're going to find her."

Sanar snorted, and pried his fingers off her shoulders, one by one. "First of all – don't touch me. You do enough damage already. Second – I avoided bonding with Solo as if she was Horaire incarnate."

He growled, and then he was right in her face.

She really, _really_ hated it when he did that.

"Why is that?" he demanded.

Her eyes flew to the side as her jewellery shook on the dresser. He was getting too angry.

She'd seen Angry Devnos before, and it was enough to make her up the bravado. "Because I didn't like her; she got in the way, you know. Plus, she was whiny and _so_ self-righteous. The last thing I needed was a spoiled wannabe-hero in my head."

Devnos cursed so hard Sanar's ears burned. "I should have chained you to the floor of Horaire's worship chamber! The priests would have made something of you," he spat, pushing her back on the bed as he straightened and stomped to the other side of the room.

Fury and icy terror erupted in her at the idea. Being left alone with the priests, and the worshipping men, even if Horaire would not be among their number… It made the idea of physical torture bliss. "I would have killed myself first," she told him, quiet but deadly serious.

A ripple ran through his body, and his head whipped around to stare at her.

It was not the reaction she had expected, and she started.

"No, you wouldn't have," he said finally. "I wouldn't have let you."

She shifted so that she was lying on the bed properly, and curled her legs up under her. Her eyes drifted closed for a soft, swift moment. "Then I would have taken you with me to the River," she whispered.

Sanar didn't even look for his reaction; whatever oddity had invaded his nature had disappeared, and she was too tired to look for exposed weaknesses.

Devnos was silent for several minutes before she _felt_ him straighten with mental illumination. "Onyx."

She sighed. "What about him?"

The cunning was back in Devnos' voice. "You bonded with him. I suggest you follow that bond as quickly as you are capable, before I regain my sane mind and ship you back to Na'Lein'yhpaon."

She chuckled. "You just never give up."

A yelp of surprise escaped her as he used the Force to lift her clear off her bed and shake her. "No, I don't. Now get to work, _niftyax_."

He dropped her – half on the floor, half over the raised bed – with a painful thud, as he slammed the door behind him. "Soul: A Collection of Triumph" slid off the bed and onto her knees; she only just caught it. Feeling like a hypocrite, she traced the gold letters on the cover. Her fingers skimmed down to the bottom where it said:

_written__ by Devnos Klis_

Her head hit the book with a plop. "I hate you, Devnos," she whispered.

But Sanar was too tired to believe her own lie.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

"We should just get rid of her," Falat hissed when Devnos stalked into the lounging area. "She's a pleasure slave – drop her off on Ord Mantell or something." Devnos' glare zeroed in on the other Dark Jedi, and Falat stumbled. "She'll only slow us down. Besides, I thought you didn't think women – "

"May I remind you," Devnos growled, "that she is my sister?"

_Bzz__-click. Pause. Click-clik-clk-ck-k…_

Falat swung his legs down from the coffee table and leaned forward, resting his elbows on his knees. "And? C'mon, everyone this side of the Imperial Palace knows you hate her, and she hates you."

"She is still useful," Devnos replied calmly, though steel was creeping into his voice. "Very useful – particularly for finding someone."

"A woman? Useful? Huh," the other snorted. Falat eyed Devnos for a moment, then lowered his eyes to the deck of cards that lay where his feet had been moments before. He picked them up and, slowly, began shuffling them. "How so?"

Devnos poured himself a glass of water and swallowed half of it quickly. How much to tell? "Sanar possesses unique abilities when it comes to the Force," he said finally, "so she will be remaining with us for a while longer." Dark eyes glared over the water glass. "Leave it at that, Falat."

Falat held his hands up in mock-surrender. "Sor_ry_. Sunrider, I thought you were just waiting for the opportunity to get rid of her."

The Na'Lein'yhpaon native turned away from his colleague. "Well, that moment hasn't come yet."

_Bzzzzssss__… Silence._

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Sanar's feet dragged as she entered the kitchen, but her triumph kept her from collapsing. For four and a half hours she had searched for Onyx in the Force – unsuccessfully. _Poor Devnos – you didn't say anything about finding Zekk, now, did you? No wonder you're falling out of favour…_

A hand reached out and bruised her arm. "Where is he?" Devnos demanded, not wasting any time.

She studied her brother for a moment. He had always been dark – both on the outside and within. Her father had said he was just going through a brooding stage (it was an "artist/teenager thing"), but she had nearly always been aware of it, although perhaps her perception had been aided by his appearance.

His black hair, thick eyebrows and onyx eyes had caught female attention even before the Klis family was shipped to Quatroc. But it had been his aristocratic features that won him a place in the Imperial Palace, and which led others to believe his intelligence without question. His ruthlessness, they discovered in minutes, if they didn't notice it in his hawk-like eyes. His bravery – well, he had certainly proved that, even if his moral compass was messed up.

But Devnos found his match in his sister, even if she didn't have his charisma.

"Sorry," she yawned, "couldn't find him. Is there anything good to eat?"

The Force swelled in fury, and then Devnos slapped her so hard she stumbled into the cooler-unit. "I give you a chance to redeem yourself, and then you come and _lie_?" he demanded.

For a moment, she leaned against the cooler-unit's frigid metal, hoping to assuage the burning on her cheek. "Onyx," she told him succinctly, "is gone. It's not my fault I couldn't find him."

"I _beg_ your pardon?" Devnos jeered. "I'm supposed to believe that a powerful Sith apprentice betrayed his emperor and then just up and disappeared?"

"Well, it seems to be the case," she retorted, standing.

His expression imploded with wrath, and she didn't have time to duck before he grabbed her neck, only just avoiding a grip that would knock her out. Her hands went up in an attempt to pry his fingers from her throat, but he was too strong. He always had been, physically. "Where – is – Onyx?" he demanded, his voice lathered in the Force.

"He's gone," she croaked, tears springing to her eyes.

His grip loosened momentarily, and something happened in his eyes (what was that expression?), and she kicked him where she knew it would hurt most, then ran from the room. She tripped once, and she knew her ankle was twisted, but Sanar only continued on. When she had escaped to her bedroom, she only just slammed and locked the door before Devnos could enter, and even so he was almost attacking her door.

"You'll find him!" she could hear him scream. "Or I'll drag you into the Temple myself!"

Sanar curled herself into a ball, covered her ears, and tried to hum loud enough to block her brother out.

This time, when she whispered, "I hate you, Devnos," she believed it.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	24. Ch6: Zekk Is Not Onyx

**Jaina-Elessar**: Falat is bad. Bad, bad, bad. As for Devnos, though…g There is definitely more to him than meets the eye. Thanks for reading!

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**Chapter Six: "Zekk is not Onyx"**

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Jaina felt tears spring into her eyes, and the next thing she knew, her mother was holding her so tightly she could hardly breathe. The resurrected girl had wanted to berate Leia – had wanted to demand why she had abandoned her, and why she hadn't done something to help her. But this… Leia was crying too, and it occurred to Jaina that her mother had lost three children and countless friends.

Interrogation could wait.

Barely, Jaina heard words bubble out of her mother's mouth, but she couldn't possibly comprehend them. A glow spread through her; for the first time in years, she _knew_ her mother loved her. It was unbelievable, and she felt tears begin to slide town her face. She could have forgiven Leia almost anything at that point.

"We felt Jacen disappear," Jaina was just able to hear her mother say. "And then Aarie felt you die…and I thought I'd never be able to…" Leia pulled away, but still cupped Jaina's face with her hands. "Oh Force, it's you…my daughter…"

A smile broke out on Jaina's face and she couldn't have possibly controlled it. "It's me," she agreed with a laugh as she wiped some of her tears away, only to have them replaced.

Leia hugged her once more, then wrapped one arm around her waist and pulled her into the front room. "Your father's just down at the landing bay – the _Falcon_'s acting up again, of course." She laughed, and, through bleary, tear-filled eyes, Jaina saw the woman her father fell for.

At the thought, she blushed, embarrassed to have forgotten Garik and…Zekk.

_Your mother's not going to forgive that, Solo_, the voice taunted. _Can't you see Leia grabbing her lightsaber and attacking?_

Jaina hesitated, but her mother didn't notice. "Han," she was almost crying into the comm unit. "Come quickly! You won't… Oh, _Han_."

Vaguely, Jaina heard her father's startled, worried questions, but her mother kept saying, "Oh, just come…it's alright…it's _perfect_ – you'll see. Oh, Han…"

When Leia hung up, Jaina stepped back a little before she could be engulfed in a hug again. "Mom, I…uh, I brought someone, and I know you probably won't like it, but I swear it's him again…"

Maybe her joy had gone to her head, or maybe she didn't want to know, because Leia just looked at her, still crying a little and smiling. "Who?"

Jaina almost cracked. She hadn't heard that much love and tenderness in her mom's voice since she was a kid. Could she just bring Zekk in so quickly?

_You have to; it's Zekk, Solo, not Onyx. You did what they thought you couldn't do. He came back; you can't be the one to abandon him._

She shook her head and wiped her sweaty palms on her pants. What had she been thinking? "It's Zekk, Mom. I did it – _he_ did it." Jaina didn't bother to try to dampen the joy in her eyes and smile as Zekk shuffled into the room, followed by Garik and his suspicion. "He came back."

Leia blinked, almost robotically, five times. "Zekk," she said flatly. "_Zekk_." This time, it was with more vehemence.

Jaina only felt a surge in the Force before she clamped down – hard – on her mother's shoulder. "I wouldn't do that, if I were you," she hissed, all softness gone now. The mother/daughter moment had passed; their differences were, once again, coming to the front.

Leia attempted to twist out of Jaina's grip, but only found herself more tightly pinned – with the Force this time. She let go of her lightsaber hilt, but the young woman knew her mother was in no way relaxed.

She also knew she couldn't blame Leia.

Zekk's eyes flickered up to Leia's hate-filled ones for a second, then flew down. He looked, Jaina thought despairingly, like he wanted to curl up in a ball and die. "I – "

Leia tried to jump forward once more, but Jaina's Force use did not falter, not even when her mother used her considerable power to batter Jaina's defences. "Don't say a word," she said, ice taking over her voice.

"Princess?"

Jaina's gaze flew to the doorway to see the salt-and-peppered hair of her father. Slowly, her eyes were able to comprehend the event, and she saw his eyes, his crooked nose, and his craggy, tanned skin. Her grip on Leia loosened, but no one moved. "Daddy."

He must not have seen Zekk, or maybe he didn't care. The next thing she knew, she was being hugged so tightly that she literally felt her breath stop, but the River held little threat over her now and so she stayed. "I told them they were wrong," she heard him say gruffly. "I told them they had to be wrong; you're a…a survivor…just like your old man."

Jaina recognized the cracking of his voice as joy, and she looked up at him. "Kriff death," she agreed, her smile threatening to crack her face.

Leia dragged her attention away from the father/daughter reunion and back to the…filth that stood in the middle of the room, staring at his feet. "Han," she said through clenched teeth.

Her husband looked up, looking happier than she had seen him in ages. "We'll have to have a party – Force knows people need a reason to celebrate."

Jaina looked ready to protest, but Leia interrupted her. "She brought _him_ here." She pointed at Zekk.

Han obliged her insistent pointing. "Oh, that's…" He stopped. "Onyx." When he looked down at Jaina, there was a hurt question in his eyes.

The resurrected woman's eyes widened. "He's normal again, Dad, I promise – you can trust him."

"He killed your brothers," Han muttered, his hand drifting to his blaster.

"_Onyx_ killed Anakin – and I assure you there's a 180 degree difference in the guy before you," Jaina pleaded.

"And Jacen?"

Jaina's eyes shut for an instant, then reopened, more sombre than before. "Brakiss…" She choked a little and cleared her throat, appearing slightly bewildered, before continuing. "Brakiss was torturing him; it would have taken him days to die. Onyx…did kill him, but only to spare him the pain!" she hurried to say, holding her dad's hand so it wouldn't grab his blaster. "Please, Daddy – I swear on my life, you can trust him."

Leia felt tears rush forward, and her anger rose. "_He killed half the Jedi and my sons!_" she shrieked.

Jaina stepped over to Zekk, grabbing his hand tightly to steady herself. "_Onyx_ did," she repeated, eyes clouding.

Her mother stepped forward to do something when –

Zekk barely caught Jaina before she collapsed. A quick scan told him that it was happening again.

"Don't!" Jaina babbled, choking. "Dev – please – I didn't find…don't, please…leave me _alone_!" She whipped an arm out, trying to contact with someone's face, but Zekk caught it and held her tightly.

"Where's the bedroom?" he asked tersely, face strained as Jaina continued to struggle.

Leia was the first to answer, always cool in a crisis, though bewildered and more than a little frightened by what was happening. "Just there," she said, pointing to the door to the left before opening it.

Han strode over to take Jaina, but Zekk ignored him, rising swiftly with Jaina in his arms and following the princess-turned-diplomat-turned-refugee. Unseen, Garik, in turn, strode behind Zekk with his eyes as twin storm clouds.

Jaina thrashed violently when Zekk placed her on the bed, and he slipped his arms around her, giving her reassurance. Only imperceptibly was the difference detected within the struggling young woman.

"What…?" Leia's voice wavered into the silence that had descended over them, save Jaina's incoherent babbles.

Zekk barely glanced up at Leia, but his eyes flashed. "She died, Mrs. Solo, and was only barely resurrected; did you think she hadn't changed?"

Noting the tempest the brewed in Leia's eyes, Garik queried, "What is the cause of her fit?" His glacial tone hid his concern.

Zekk _did_ look up then, if only because he was surprised to realize that the other man was still there. "Sanar was able to anchor Jaina's spirit, even after Jaina died. Sanar could only do that by bonding with her." Jaina stilled but, other than to reposition the woman so her back was against him, the dark-haired man didn't loosen his embrace.

"Sanar?" Garik prompted, stepping forward to gently brush Jaina's hair aside. Her face was pale and drawn; in the short period of time, her hair had become slightly damp with sweat. Unlike before, however, the distortion of her face was only from uneasiness during the sleep into which she had slid.

Zekk's expression softened as his gaze landed on Jaina. "A slave with a large dollop of Force potential and an even bigger chip in her shoulder. I guess she was in a good mood, because she acted a lot faster than I was able to."

The Solo daughter stirred and her eyes began to open. A yawn split her face. "Zekk?" she murmured.

He squeezed her shoulders, ignoring the expressions on the others' faces. "Right here. You had another freakout; do you remember anything?"

Her eyes closed for a moment, but when they opened Garik could still read nothing in them. Silence stretched between the group, and the diplomat was quite sure that the couple was communicating through the Force. Jaina's parents appeared frozen; Garik himself felt as if sludge crawled through his veins.

Why did he have the distinct feeling this was kriffing Solo's fault? _Kriffing Jedi_, he grumbled, as his mind was the only thing that seemed to be working properly. _Don't they have a rule against them playing with others' blood?_

"Fine," Zekk said at last, and the scene once more changed. "We'll talk later."

_Well, you don't need to be snippy about how she only trusts you,_ Garik thought, just a little sourly. It appeared that his days as Jaina's confidant were significantly over.

Jaina's hair swung as she disentangled herself from Zekk's arms. "Mom, Dad, Garik," she said evenly, "Zekk is not Onyx. I'm going to ask you one last time to trust me, and not hurt Zekk. He saved my life as much as Sanar did."

Without waiting for a reply, she stood. "And I need to speak to Tenel Ka." Her hands twisted, and one lifted to touch a side pocket on her jacket. "Garik, would you come with me? This'll be a delicate moment." She winced as her mind came up with several undesirable conversations that could be had between herself and the warrior princess. "To say the least."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	25. Ch7: The Differences Between Twins

**Jaina-Elessar**: Thanks! The phrase du CitR really is "poor Zekk." Well—at least, until it's "poor Sanar" and "poor ", etc, etc… _-g-_.

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**Chapter Seven: The Differences Between Twins**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Tenel Ka was stretching in her private garden when she received news of Jaina's arrival. Her reaction was the expected one – disbelief – but a hesitant look to the Force confirmed the officer's words. Jaina Solo, defying all the universal laws of the Force and mortality, was alive.

The reluctant princess relaxed out of her current stance and stood, feeling her muscles tug for a brief moment before they accepted the change. Since the news of her friend's arrival, she had been pressing her body to work faster and harder than usual; the nervous energy helped.

For once in her life, Tenel Ka was not quite sure what she was going to do. Both Solo twins had died, but Jaina had come back. Tenel Ka knew she should be content – overjoyed, even – that her friend was alive, but over and over again one thought raced through her mind:

_Why couldn't it have been Jacen who came back?_

She forced Jacen's memory into a box, though, to cradle later. Hanging onto the past was a weakness – one she had thought herself immune to. She was ashamed to find herself wrong. Pride had always been her weakness, she knew that, but the warrior woman had hoped that she'd learned something after the loss of her arm.

_No_, she commanded herself. She was a warrior, and her friend was returning. Now was not the time to think on these things. She had to plan what she was going to do.

But she was at a loss.

_Jaina's alive. Jaina died, but she's alive. Jacen's dead. He's never coming back._

_And you didn't even tell him._

A growl of frustration escaped her, and Tenel Ka pushed her damp hair out of her face impatiently.

The idea that a friend could be brought back after death was not one Tenel Ka was accustomed to. What was she supposed to do? Would Jaina object to a medical exam, to make sure she really was alive and not a clone? Would Jaina understand if Tenel Ka remained as detached as possible?

Would Jaina…

_Jaina was not aware of my feelings for Jacen_, the warrior decided finally. _It would be acceptable – forgivable – if I asked how he died…correct? She would understand if I didn't smile and tackle her the way I tackled Jacen, when he "came back from the dead" on Bespin. After all, Jacen and I were friends. We became close, while Jaina and I drifted a little. Jaina would not think it amiss if I…_

If she…what? Collapsed, crying? If she asked Jaina to tell her everything, in an attempt to fill the cancer that was eating away at her heart?

In the end, the decision was taken from Tenel Ka. Jaina Solo and Diplomat Klamath appeared with surprisingly little warning; Tenel Ka was embarrassed that she had not heard – or sensed – their approach.

Tenel Ka turned when a twig snapped, and then Jaina was hugging her tightly. The normally stoic woman blinked and tentatively returned the embrace, though uncomfortable.

Jaina pulled back after a moment and wiped a tear away. "I never thought I'd see you again," she remarked, a crooked smile on her face.

Tenel Ka's grey eyes regarded her solemnly. "Nor I you." It took more strength than usual to meet Jaina's eyes. Almost as if she realized this, Jaina smiled and looked away.

"You wish it was Jacen who came back," Jaina said, quietly but bluntly. None of the sadness Tenel Ka felt in the Force came through Jaina's voice.

"I did not mean – "

Jaina chuckled, but it sounded forced. "I don't blame you; if it was me in your position, and it was Lowie or Zekk… Well, I might not be so quick to throw a party, either."

Tenel Ka tensed instinctively at Zekk's name, a movement that neither Jaina nor Garik failed to notice. The princess' lips thinned. "If you did not, then I would be the first to declare a holiday," she spat, turning away.

"There is a great difference between Zekk and Onyx," Jaina argued, her voice hard. "They are as different as you and your grandmother – or Anakin Skywalker and Darth Vader."

"He killed my mother."

That was all she said; Jaina flinched. "I know," she breathed, looking down. "And I'm sorry; I've been as affected as anyone by Onyx. He killed Anakin, enslaved me, paralysed me from the waist down…" Garik squeezed Jaina's shoulder. His meaning was clear: let Tenel Ka grieve.

Jaina sighed. She was beginning to seriously doubt bringing Zekk into this nest of enemies. Onyx deserved this – and more – but she didn't want to see Zekk torn apart any more than he already was.

"This isn't why I came," she said finally, not relishing what would come next. "Jacen…" Jaina took a shuddery breath. "He knew he was going to die."

Tenel Ka was eerily still, and her shielding completely blocked even Jaina.

"He – he gave me something for you. A holo. Here." Jaina held it out. When Tenel Ka still didn't react, Jaina's eyes flashed, her hand and the holo dropping to her side. "He loved you, don't you get it?" she demanded. "He _loved_ you – and don't give me that bantha dung about how you didn't love him just as much! Force, you two… Urgh! How could you be so _stupid_?"

Tenel Ka turned around, probably to argue, but Jaina didn't let her speak. She had mentally resolved to not go into this territory (yet), but her anger and her own grief took the chance.

"You had love and, sorry, but I don't see a single excuse for your behaviour. It wasn't like me and Zekk – neither of you were out to kill the other."

Jaina stopped when she realized Tenel Ka's eyes were becoming suspiciously shiny. "I understand your frustration," the princess said in a way that implied this had hit a major pressure point. "However, it is…quite too late now."

Jaina's shoulders slumped. "Yeah, and I'm sorry for that," she said after a pause. "I think…I would have liked to have a sister."

Tenel Ka swallowed, but didn't reply. "May I…?" The princess' voice was strained. For once, Jaina caught the helplessness and pain in her friend's expression. Silently, Jaina held out the holo chip. Tenel Ka stared at it for a moment before taking it.

Garik touched Jaina's shoulder. "We should go," he whispered.

Jaina nodded. "I'm staying with my parents," she told Tenel Ka. "Call me if you need anything."

Any other time, Tenel Ka's gaze would have cut up. If it had been any other moment, she would have stated that "would not require assistance, thank you".

It struck Jaina again how different Jacen's love life was from hers.

She wondered, as she followed Garik out of the garden, who had had it better. Her brother, watching from afar, loving but never holding, up to the last minute of his life? Or she, who had loved and hated, prayed for and fought against the man she loved? Jacen had dreamed, safe in his unrequited love, but hurting all the same; he had had his love's friendship, and the encouragement of his family. Jaina had sacrificed everything, doubted everything, and because she loved the enemy she was cast away; her love had been solitary for years.

_I would do it all over again_, she answered herself barely a second later. _I would._

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	26. Ch8: Phantoms

**ZekksGoddess**: And suddenly, with the new username, I recognize you so much better –laughs-. Tenel Ka just lost her soul mate. It's not going to be easy for her :(

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**Chapter Eight: Phantoms**

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Phantom hands tried to stroke the welts on her face, and Sanar jolted awake. It was a reflex, even if there was no physical reaction to the "touch". The first thing she noticed was that Devnos was no longer at the door; shuddering, she wondered what he would do to her when he came back. Her room was still a mess, she knew, without looking about. Little stopped Devnos' telekinetic power. The bruise on her head from where she'd been hit by a brooch said as much.

The second thing she noticed was that a disgustingly familiar presence was nearby, floating around as only a ghost could.

"Kyp Durron," she recognized flatly.

She was surprised to see concern (and…was that anger?) flooding his blue, transparent eyes. However, she quickly reassured herself that it had nothing to do with how pitiful she was – he was just being a "hero".

"Sanar, sweet Force, what did he… Why?"

The slave swatted his hands away and was rewarded with Kyp retracting his offending appendages, even if she couldn't possibly touch him. She sat up slowly, a scowl finding residence on her face. "Why not?" She half rolled (she was being lazy), half dragged (her ankle hurt) herself to the bed, and relaxed onto it, trying to imagine it all away. "So, has anyone in this kind of situation ever actually found their 'redemption'?"

"Self-pity really doesn't suit you."

Her temper flared. "Yeah, well, you know what? I just got beat up by my big brother because I was covering Solo and Zekk's backs. I'm not seeing the benefits for me."

"Why," he said with mock-surprise, "don't you feel the satisfaction of a job well done? Devnos still doesn't know. And why aren't you happy that you protected your friends?"

"They are not my _friends_," she hissed. "They're just a few more people I saved along the way, since I couldn't save myself. I don't have friends – it's too risky, not to mention stupid."

Durron turned away from her and began inspecting her shelves of knick-knacks. "Then you must be the saddest person in the universe," he muttered, and she wasn't sure if he was being sarcastic or not.

She took offence anyway. "I don't need your pity, Durron. I know plenty of people who are more pathetic than me."

"But most of them don't know any better."

Sanar snorted derisively. "Their self-delusion is the worst part. They don't know anything else; they _expect_ life to be horrible, and they think they deserve it." She crossed her arms over her chest. "It's disgusting."

"It's your mother," he acknowledged.

Cold fury burst from her mouth in the form of suggestions as to how Kyp might better spend his time.

The Jedi turned back to her, one thick eyebrow raising. "I'm not quite sure that's humanly possible," he replied dryly when she finished a particularly foul suggestion.

She almost ripped her fingers off when she started twisting them. Electricity crackled in the air. Sanar couldn't summon the Sith light properly, but if Kyp wasn't dead, she would have tried to use it on him anyway. "Why do you always have to come around here?" she demanded. "You know, I was perfectly fine with my life before you came along."

"You were a desperate woman who hated herself," he retorted. "I'm not necessarily all that happy about being sent back to you every few days either, doll. Do you think I enjoy seeing your eyes burn with hatred? This isn't my choice. Ever heard of the Force? It kinda holds all the cards at the moment."

"Oh I get it," she said mockingly. "The Force decided I'd spent enough time hating myself and decided to give me a break. Well, tell them I'm quite sick of using you as a dart board. I'd like to go back to my day-to-day living, thank you."

Kyp snorted and crossed his arms over his imposing chest. "Thanks for your vote of confidence, but I don't consider myself on the up-and-up enough to counsel the Force. Besides," he added, eyes gleaming. "I've developed a soft spot for you, even if you look like a wreck half the time I see you."

Her hand unconsciously raised to her frizzy hair. When she realized that she was checking it, Sanar scowled and lowered her hand. "You're dead," she said plaintively, "so why do you have to keep coming back? And how the Sith can your eyes still do weird things?"

He frowned. "What was that?"

"You're two dimensional," she stated as she stood and put her hands on her hips. "There is no way your eyes should be able to _gleam_."

"It's my charismatic personality; and you forgot to mention that the 'weird things' include the way your heart is flip flopping right now."

Her look dripped in disdain. "Yeah, dancing with pity for your mother, maybe. Is there no end to your arrogance?"

"Is there no end to your hatred?" he returned.

Sanar's face changed to stone. "You know nothing about me," she said. Her dull, mocha eyes met his. "I am what I need to be."

Kyp watched Sanar, for the first time unsure of what to say to her. His heart – which he had assumed was gone – ached. He wasn't intimately connected to Sanar, but he had seen Jaina's nightmares after the two women had bonded.

Sanar shook her head in exasperation and turned away from him. She itched to do something, but years under Horaire had taught her to keep still. Recalling her plea a month ago, when she was tired enough to believe in redemption, she thought she might collapse on the spot. _I hate this_, she acknowledged. _I hate Devnos. I hate myself. I hate, I hate, I hate…_

"Was it Gantik or Horaire who taught you to shun yourself?" Kyp finally managed.

Her shoulders tensed. "I don't let men affect me like that," she said, her voice as sharp as any dagger. "Not anymore."

Kyp nodded wearily. He had his answer.

_Gantik_.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_I hate this._

_It will be easier when you stop fighting._

_Shut up! I hate you. Is caring such a crime?_

_It is when it's for a _niftyax

_She's not – _

_Men are the superior gender. Females are weak. Only strength matters._

_That's not true! You know it's not!_

_If it's not true, then why can't you protest?_

_Because you…!_

_Ah, yes. It's all my fault. Sorry, but that doesn't work. I let you speak the truth. I'm not stopping you from doing anything else._

Pause.

_You're mechanical; how can you speak like one of us?_

_After so many years, my programming has become slightly destabilized. You are – as humans say – "rubbing off on me". Not to worry though; I will work for several more of your lifetimes before my planned objective is affected. Would you prefer that I wipe this conversation off your mind completely?_

_No._

_Why not? It will help you sleep better. The Darkness can only cradle you for so long._

_Shut up! I'd rather die than go around like a zombie._

Silence

_Your father fought it, too._

_Don't you dare bring him into this! I hate you, I hate your government, I hate – _

Bleeeeeeeeeeeeekta. 

_Tell me, Dark one: how do you feel now?_

_I…I can't…_ Silence.

_Good_._ Very good. I'm afraid you humans are very easy to control. Will you, I wonder, even wake up this time? Probably not. Your heart is slowing…ah yes…in fact, it's barely beating. Why is it, I wonder, that you are so affected by me? Downloaded knowledge tells me that humans react badly to enforced beliefs, but you are being melodramatic._

_Well, it doesn't really matter, does it? I think this is good-bye, Dark one. You fought longer than I expected. If I was programmed to, I think…I think I could admire you._

_Even if you are a fool._

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	27. Ch9: Sanar's Lesson in Friendship

**Lydia**: lol, Onyx is in a huge state of denial, there :P Thanks for reading!

**GundamWingFanatic90**: Thanks for reading! I'll look forward to hearing your response when you catch up ;)

**Krippet**: Megan…you are priceless. /laughs/ And /hugs/ for being such a great sister :D

Sorry for the huge gap between updates, guys! Vacation took me by surprise :P Another post will be following shortly.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

**Chapter Nine: Sanar's Lesson in Friendship**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_She watched Gantik as he brandished…a basket?_

_"A_ picnic_?" she realized incredulously. "Gantik, Breeshta is going to _kill_ me – and I don't even want to think what Hora…_he_'ll do to me! Do you have any idea how hard it was to get this time off? You said this was important!"_

_He looked hurt. "It is. You worry too much, Sanar. I promised I'd help you relax, and I intend to keep that promise. Didn't you ever have picnics when you were a kid?"_

_The girl groaned. "Relaxation isn't worth a – another beating," she finished lamely, just barely hiding my slip. "I need to go."_

_She turned to go, but he caught her hand. His blue eyes pouted, and she wavered. "Please?" he wheedled. "It's all your favourites – I even managed to scavenge some real meat, so you can – "_

_Her eyes widened. "Larifx, Gantik! Your father will notice that!" She pushed against his chest, making him take a few steps back. "Get going! He doesn't need another reason to hate either of us."_

_Gantik dismissed it with a wave of his hand. "The old bas – "_

_She glared. "What did I say about cussing? It's a bad habit."_

_"The hapless idiot wouldn't care," he finished with bite. "I'm out of the way, aren't I? Besides, he'll probably think I was using it to bribe some girl into my bed."_

_A spark set in the back of her mind, but she ignored it. "In which case he'd be disappointed, 'cause you didn't force the issue," she mocked._

_He surprised her by suddenly spinning her right into his arms and tipping her back. She reflexively flailed; she could barely move. Larifx, she thought, terrified. Was I wrong? Strings, was I wrong? Is he – _

_"Then I'd just tell him I was using my head," Gantik said, mock-seriously. She laughed in relief when he gently released her. She fell to the grass and rolled a little away._

_"Wait." Gantik's face was suddenly over hers, and the young woman stilled. "Did I just hear a laugh escape your frozen lips?"_

_She rolled her eyes, but was very aware of how close he was. "Quit it."_

_He beamed, not catching her seriousness. Her blood slowed as his arms relaxed, leaving him awkwardly half-off, half-on her. "I told you I'd get you to laugh. See? Life's not so horrible."_

_"I said _quit it_, Gantik."_

_Didn't he hear her? Why didn't he listen? Did he think this was a game?_ Stars, Gantik, just stop it! I don't…I don't want this. I need you as a friend. You can't… Please don't.

_Gantik appeared wounded, but he shifted so he barely touched her. The girl remained rigid. "You need to make up your mind," he muttered._

_"About what? I told you I only want friendship," she hissed. Her body was finally responding to her commands, and she sat up, using her heels to back peddle away from him. "That's not up for debate."_

_"It's only because of Horaire, isn't it?"_

_If he'd meant to strike out at her, he succeeded. "Don't bring that – that – _him_ into this," she stammered, her face deathly white. "You have no idea what's going on. You're guessing."_

_"I know he hurts you." Gantik's eyes were hard. "And I know you let him." He got to his knees and shuffled over to her. His height was suddenly intimidating. "Why?"_

_She looked away. "I – I can't," she whispered. "He'd find out. He'd kill me and…and do worse."_

_Gantik's eyes softened immediately and he took her hand. She swayed a little, adjusting to the sudden lack of two supporting arms. "I can help you," he told her earnestly. "I'd do anything for you. Just let me in."_

_It happened too quickly – even for her. The Force barely flared in warning –_

_ ----  
_

Jaina's anguish and fear bled through the Force, stealing Zekk's attention immediately. He turned to see her thrashing on the pull-out couch. A brief scan told him it was not a fit – it was, instead, another nightmare.

Even before he could take a step toward her, he focused on comforting her. /Jaina, wake up/ Her reaction was only to shudder. /You are Jaina Solo/ he reminded her. /It's alright; I'm right here. Me – Zekk/

/GO AWAY! LEAVE ME ALONE/

He'd expected that but still couldn't stop his flinch. Crouching next to the bed, he grabbed her hands and held them firmly. /Jaina, I need you to wake up. You're having another nightmare/

There was silence through their bond. Through the Force, he searched for any conscious presences. Finding none, he whispered, "Jay, it's okay. It's not real."

That was a lie, of course. The nightmare was almost certainly real, judging by the way she had reacted to him. It was only too real, for Sanar. But it wasn't Jaina's memory; that was all that mattered right now.

Jaina was too caught up in the painful web of the nightmare to heed his words. If it had been any other person's nightmare – Jaina's or his own – he would have tried to hold her, which seemed to comfort her.

But he'd learned within the first week on Bob that holding Jaina when she went through Sanar's life was a very, very bad idea.

Jaina's elbow nearly caught him in the face, and he released her wrists as he dodged the blow. Realizing he was getting no where, and she was reaching the point where she'd end up hurting herself, Zekk called upon the Force. She stiffened then relaxed into the warm blast he'd sent through their bond. Zekk watched her carefully, withdrawing from the Force as quickly as possible. Helping Jaina was one of the very few – if not only – reasons he touched the Force at all these days. He had seen how destructive it could be in the wrong hands, and he was in no hurry to relearn the idea. 

Jaina whacked the back of the sofa one more time before she woke up. Her eyes scrunched in mental pain before snapping open. Almost instinctively, his name escaped her lips. The isolation of "Bob" had left her well-aware of who would be there to comfort her, even if the reassurance had yet to pass into her unconscious mind.

The former Darkest Knight glanced up, hoping Jaina's parents had not heard. Jaina's nightmares were difficult to help her through and that was with their bond. He had little doubt that her parents would throw him out before he could help, should they walk in now.

Placing a comforting hand on her shoulder, he helped her sit. "It's alright," he soothed.

The dam behind her eyes broke, and Jaina buried her head in his shoulder. He was fairly sure that she was trying to recount the nightmare, but her words were incoherent. Zekk didn't try to stop her. After several moments, he was able to make out a few words, but it didn't matter. What he needed to know, he could see through their bond.

Silently, he nursed anger; why couldn't Jaina escape these memories? How could someone do that to Sanar? Why did Jaina have to live it? How could Gantik have claimed to love Sanar – and then try to push her beyond their relationship? Why, why, why. How, how, how.

When she finally pulled back, her eyes were red-rimmed and her hair went in every direction. There was a level of wretchedness in the way she sniffled and lifted her hand to brush away her tears, only to let it drop before it reached her face. "I'm sorry," she whispered, her voice squeaky here and raspy there from the tears. "I didn't want to wake you up again."

If he hadn't known she would ignore his words, Zekk would have told her that he _wanted_ to comfort her, help her through it. The problem with loving Jaina, he had found, was that she was too independent to admit she needed help – even to Zekk, even after her death.

Which, he told himself, was why it was just as well that he leave soon; it wasn't only for him, for his atonement. Jaina needed time to heal, too, time without him.

Of course, the truth didn't make the idea of their impending separation any easier. Especially since Zekk didn't necessarily plan to let Jaina know ahead of time.

_Concentrate on right now_, he reminded himself. _It's the only way to survive; the past will make you want to die, and the future is too uncertain._

So he lay down on the pull-out couch next to Jaina and pulled her into his arms, hoping she would find comfort. Judging by the slow release of her tension, it worked. An hour after she slipped into sleep, unaware of their decreasing time, Zekk finally surrendered to the Sandman's call.

His last thoughts were of her.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Okay, I know there are people reading this—the chapters have an average of 30 hits each. _Please_ R&R? Even a "good job" is great.

.Tjz


	28. Ch10: Threats and Bad Food

**Lydia**: Thanks for reading!

**Elorinna**** Evenstarre**: No problem – thanks for reading/reviewing this time :) Zekk does appear to be leaving… And it goes without saying that Jaina will not be a happy camper. :P

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

**Chapter Ten: Threats and Bad Food**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Jaina suspected that her parents spread the word of her return (and her willingness to reunite with people), just so they could separate her from Zekk. With the image of her mother taking a lightsaber to Zekk's chest, Jaina made sure to keep a close watch on him in "his" room.

None of the friends she missed the most came. Lowie was on a mission, bringing the last group of Jedi children to Hapes. The others – Tiran, Aarie and even Kip among them – stayed away. Kip's absence she could excuse – he probably didn't know, since half the base kept a wide berth from him. The others, she forced herself to understand.

She had, after all, expected this.

_Who are you? Sanar, Zekk, Jaina or…?_

By the time the last squadron comrade and once-met Jedi had left, it was late. Leia had surveyed her daughter, eyes still cold with anger and pain, and said that dinner would be ready in a few moments. As her mother floated into the kitchen, Jaina smiled, despite herself. She had never thought she would look forward to her mother's horrible, burnt food.

The Jedi let her eyes close momentarily. _I'm home, I'm home! _

She'd never let that go again.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Zekk had been trying to make a very quick sandwich when Leia Organa Solo burst in. He jumped and hid the nut-butter jar guiltily.

_Shavit_, he thought when Leia realized he was there. He almost melted under her glare. _I am going to die. Sorry, Jaina. _

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Jaina's eyes jerked open as she sensed Zekk's fear. Standing, she walked lightly to the kitchen door and pressed her ear against it.

_Mother_, she thought angrily, _if you kill him, you would not believe how sorry you'll be. _

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Leia continued to glare at Zekk, literally trembling with rage. He wondered why she didn't attack him with everything including the kitchen sink. _Maybe_, he thought vaguely, _Jaina employed one of Sanar's desperate measures. _

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Hearing nothing, Jaina pushed the door open just a little. Zekk and Leia were standing two metres apart, locked in a stare-down. Leia's beautiful face was contorted with hatred, while Zekk's expression was resigned.

With a sudden movement, Leia grabbed a vial from the counter. "I could put this in your food, you know," she hissed, and Jaina recognized it as poison. In-her-head Sanar wondered what Leia was doing, keeping poison in the kitchen. "You'd take forever to die – just like my family and friends." Leia's voice broke.

Jaina considered leaping in right then, but hesitated. Maybe it would be best to gather information before acting.

_Well, that wasn't a very Jaina Solo thought, was it? I told you you were…different._

_Of course I'm different. I died. I came back to life. Now shut up. _

Zekk's expression was inscrutable, but Jaina could see him swallow. "Why don't you?" he asked.

Leia glared and slammed the poison back onto the counter, still holding it tightly. "Well, it always comes back to Jaina, doesn't it? I barely know her anymore, but she's still my daughter. Apparently, she's ignoring the fact that you killed her brothers, because she's ecstatic that you're back. Han is ready to offer Jaina the _Millennium Falcon_, he's so happy. But I want you gone, Onyx, or I might just…"

"Don't worry," he muttered, his back to her, eyes dark as he began to attack pieces of bread with a blunt knife. Jaina wasn't sure if he was trying to spread nut-butter on the bread, or hack it to pieces.

"I'm leaving tomorrow morning, before Jaina wakes up." The eavesdropper froze; Zekk hesitated, as did the knife in his hand. "She doesn't know. I plan to keep it that way."

Jaina blinked, stunned, but somehow not.

He was leaving?

_He's leaving – and he wasn't even going to warn me. _

Leia's voice was a chorus of staccatos, but the vial of poison was released.

Jaina stumbled backwards, barely able to join two thoughts.

_Shavit__, Zekk, I didn't die just so you could run again! _

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar was surprised when Falat shoved a dinner tray into her arms. Considering Devnos' anger, she had expected to starve.

That did not, however, mean she trusted Devnos' partner one whit. His eyes were too close together, and eerily blank. Shivering at the memory of them, Sanar eyed her food for only a moment before eating it quickly.

It was disgusting – in fact, it tasted like rotten bleegdon eggs, and Sanar had to keep reminding herself that it was food.

Food – bullies were fond of taking it away.

She threw the tray onto the kitchen counter, then headed back to her room and grabbed her book. Almost reflexively, she opened it to the story of the Kavishka and blankly stared at the words.

Sanar knew this one off by heart; before he had changed, Devnos had joked that he wrote it just for her. When he'd first written the story, it had been simple: a warrior rebelled against the villainous government and came out victorious. But then Sanar had fallen in love with the main character, and Devnos had written her in as the warrior's "true love". She'd believed in things like that, then.

She snorted. _What a bunch of…_ The woman's stomach lurched, and she staggered to the 'fresher. She arrived too late, and everything she had eaten came up, over and over again. Acid ripped her stomach lining and throat, and she was barely aware of the tears streaming down her face.

_Sha__…vit…_ She'd forgotten how much it hurt!

When the spell ended, Sanar curled against the wall, gasping for air. The stench was unbearable, but her body had turned into rubber, and she couldn't move to wash her face. Besides, the world was spinning around…and around…and…

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Devnos looked up, frowning.

Something was wrong.

Putting his reports to the side, he stood and cast out in the Force, searching for the origin of the disturbance. He was unsuccessful, but a foul odour bit at his nose, and he reluctantly approached the 'fresher. Glancing over his shoulder, he saw no one, and he palmed the door open.

His heart stopped.

Sanar was caught limply between the wall and the counter, and the source of the stench covered the floor. For the first time in a very long time, Devnos was at a loss. _By the stars_, he thought numbly, _Sanar can't be…?_

Then his sister moaned, and Devnos nearly collapsed in relief. She was still alive – that was something, at least. Keeping his thoughts carefully blank, he stepped into the room as cautiously as if the floor was covered in broken glass.

**_Stay away from her._**

_Who cares about her? Why get your shoes dirty pulling her out of another mess? _

Two voices. Both powerful.

Devnos paused, then found an acceptable reply: _The odour is…disturbing. She is unable to clean this place up herself – of course – and someone has to clean it up. _

There was no more from the voices – either of them. Devnos continued on and gently picked Sanar up. Careful to avoid slipping (_he suppressed a grimace of distaste_), he left the 'fresher and carried Sanar into her room, then deposited her on the narrow bed.

She groaned, and he moved her slightly to see a book poking into her back. He pulled it out and started to put it to the side before he recognized it.

_Soul: A Collection of Triumph_ and more specifically…_that_ story. His jaw tightened, and he dropped the book.

Pivoting on his heel, Devnos marched out of the room.

By the time he had finished cleaning the 'fresher, he'd already forgotten about it.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

**_x-x-x  
_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	29. Ch11: Can't Stop Loving You

**Elorinna**** Evenstarre**: Leia is a mother who lost both of her sons, and has to deal with Jacen's killer being around while she's pregnant. She isn't right, but she _does_ have a reason. Poor Zekk :( Jaina…well. You'll see, lol. Thanks for reading!

**_x-x-x_**

Sorry for the lateness—my internet connection has gone absolutely bonkers. For the past week, I've barely been able to access it. For some reason, it's being nice to me today. Hopefully the luck holds.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

**Chapter Eleven: Can't Stop Loving You**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_So you're leaving in the morning on the early train  
I could say everything's alright  
And I could pretend and say goodbye  
Got your ticket  
Got your suitcase  
Got your leaving smile  
I could say that's the way it goes  
And I could pretend and you won't know  
That I was lying  
Cause I can't stop loving you  
No I can't stop loving you  
No I won't stop loving you  
Why should I?  
We took a taxi to the station, not a word was said  
And I saw you walk across the road  
For maybe the last time I don't know  
Feeling humble  
I heard a rumble  
On the railway track  
And when I hear that whistle blow  
I'll walk away and you won't know  
That I'll be crying  
Cause I can't stop loving you  
No I can't stop loving you  
No I won't stop loving you  
Why should I?  
Even try ……I'll always be here by your side  
Why, why, why ……I never wanted to say goodbye  
Why even try ….I'm always here if you change, change your mind_  
- "Can't Stop Loving You" by Phil Collins

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

No doubt Zekk meant to be quiet. His mind, however, was anything but, and Jaina woke the instant he stopped by her couch. She held her breath, wondering if he would wake her, hoping there would be no need, but knowing him too well to put much faith in either. Fortunately – or unfortunately, as the case may be – Zekk was too anxious to realize that she was awake, and she heard him set something on the nearby bedstead.

She fumed. Was he really not going to wake her? _You are heading for a great deal of pain, Zekk_.

She paused and repressed a shudder. Sometimes, her new persona frightened her. _And_ Jaina_ will be the one in charge of that, _not_ Sanar – not Sanar's temper._

Zekk's lips brushed her temple, and then he was gone. She blinked and shot up. He wasn't supposed to have gone _that_ fast! Her eyes flew to the bedstead to see a piece of flimsi with her name scrawled on it.

Dammit. She wasn't sure of much, but she was _quite_ certain she deserved more than a piece of _flimsi_. Sacrificing everything for him should have brought in a state-of-the-art datapad, at least. After all, not only had she died, but she now had him and Sanar permanently stuck in her head.

Jaina stumbled off the couch and raced after Zekk. By the time she was nearing the _Second Chance_'s docking bay, her gut coiled in sickness and weakness. Bob hadn't returned all of her muscle – something she would be foolish to forget anytime soon.

Jaina – and Sanar – hated weakness.

"Zekk! Wait!"

For a very brief second, Zekk thought about pretending he hadn't heard her. A goodbye was only going to make things harder, and his shabby reasoning was only barely propelling him forward. But then he realized that she had followed him – and he had been running.

He turned to see her sprinting up, her face pained. Before he could even think of stepping forward to support her, she slapped him hard across the face.

_Alright_, he thought, wincing as he rubbed his sore cheek, _so maybe she isn't at the point of exhaustion. What was I expecting, anyway?_

"How can you be running?" she demanded, going right to the root of her anger. "After everything."

"Jaina – "

"No!" she stormed, stomping her foot even as she applied pressure to a stomach cramp. "I _can't_ believe you!"

"I have to do this, and nothing you say will change my mind." The ease with which he slipped into Onyx's commanding voice terrified him, but Jaina didn't even seem to notice. Had she grown used to his consistent inability to stay away from the Dark?

He could see the conflict on her face before she said, more quietly, "I never thought you'd be this selfish, Zekk. Or this stupid. Do you think I don't understand? I was there too and, believe me, running doesn't help!"

He appreciated her attempt, but how could she even begin to understand? He had turned so completely, slaughtering should-have-been allies and friends alike. What had she done? Fought against the enemy – against _him_. That wasn't Dark – not like the Sith. She'd just danced into the darker grey area – and only because of him.

"I'm not running," he protested, swallowing hard, frozen to the spot. "Jay – "

"You need people who care about you," she continued, her eyes almost frantic now. "And I _do_ know. I've lived everything that happened, Zekk! Remember? I have three people – _you_ – in my head; I'm more than competent on the subject of Darkness and – "

Her multiple personalities had only become a necessary part of her life because he had killed her. Yet another crime he could never forgive himself for. But she didn't want to hear that, and so he didn't say it.

Not yet, anyway. It was hard enough on both of them already.

"I'll be back," he promised, his eyes meeting hers for a second.

Both their eyes were shining suspiciously, but neither was clear-headed enough to realize it. "You're _always_ leaving!" she cried. "And I'm always dragging you back."

"I have to do this," he tried to explain, placing his hands on her shoulders. "I ruined lives, Jay. I…" His voice broke. "I'm a murderer." Seeing the protest in her eyes, he argued, "It doesn't matter what title I had then. I'm Onyx. Onyx is me. I can't escape that."

"It wasn't you," she argued stubbornly, lips trembling. "Please, Zekk. Don't go." /_I need you_/

Zekk pulled her close, breathed her in, biting his lips so hard he tasted blood. He didn't want to leave. He couldn't – but how could he stay?

_Peckhum__. Jacen. Anakin. Master Skywalker. Jaina._ Because of him, they had all died.

"I _will_ be back," he repeated.

"You always say that," she murmured into his chest. "Why should I believe you now?"

He pulled back enough to see her face. Even through his own tears, he could see she was crying. More tears he had cost her – but he'd give anything to make sure they were the last ones. "Because I love you," he replied, kissing her and brushing away her tears. "Trust in that."

_He will_, Sanar sulked.

Jaina released him long enough to brush away her tears and give him a watery smile. "I love you too," she said finally, barely aware that her voice was breaking. She looked down briefly, then wrapped her arms around his neck and rose on her tiptoes to kiss him thoroughly.

Everything went into that – kissing him without crying, without demanding that he stay. There was too little time for this goodbye – the first in an extremely close month. Already she could feel the ache and she pulled him closer. He responded in kind and they melted into each other.

Just when all his thoughts stopped, Jaina pulled back abruptly. "You're not getting anymore until you come back," she said stiffly, holding tightly to her self-control.

His own control faltered, but he cobbled the remnants together as best he could. "Then I guess I should hurry," he breathed, hugging her with his eyes squeezed shut.

Both were shaking, and neither noticed. Besides, they'd gone through too much to care about much more than their separation.

"I love you," he said one last time, "and I'll be back."

When he was gone, Jaina couldn't open her eyes. She was amazed that they were open enough to let the tears stream down.

He had left.

And even though she understood why he had done it, a small part of her hated him for that.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Jaina stared at the letter for hours before she opened it. Her parents, relaxed now that Zekk was gone and their only surprise was that their daughter was alive, left her alone for the morning. Her mother was able to start smiling again, at Han, at Jaina, at her bulging stomach, at random pieces of furniture.

In an attempt to distract herself, Jaina wondered if the baby was her brother or her sister.

Unfortunately, that led her to wondering what her children might look like, if she and Zekk ever managed to stay in one place long enough to raise a family. Would she end up having twins, like her mother and grandmother? It _was_ the Skywalker legacy – but she was only half Skywalker. Would they have her brown eyes? Maybe Anakin's blue eyes? Or Zekk's beautiful, multi-tone green eyes that made her melt whenever…

Jaina banged her head down on the table, where she was sitting. It was all getting her nowhere. Everything led back to Zekk.

Finally, she snatched and opened the letter. She was being a coward – pathetically afraid of a letter. She devoured it, gulped down his words and presence, then read it again.

_Jay,_

_First of all, please don't kill me._

_Secondly, I left this morning because I can't stay, and we both know it. This is your time with your family, and I can't take that from you. My presence will only strain your relationship with your mother even more, and I know you want her love. It's not the right time for me to come, and I'm sorry._

_You didn't want to hear this on Bob, but I have to say it eventually: There's too little difference between Onyx and I. Even if we could be described as two different people, I created him. By accident, yes, but everything that made Onyx was – and is – in me. I committed despicable crimes, and my hands are drenched with blood – with everyone's blood, even yours._

_On a more practical scale, however, I have information about the Empire that can't be spread about Hapes. Partly because your friends would kill me before I finished saying "I can". I'm going to talk to a little Intel friend of ours – I'm sure you know who I'm talking about. The spitfire's been there for me before, and I'm hoping she will listen before she shoots._

_Don't worry – I'll stay out of her brothers' way._

_I'm not disappearing, Jaina – not again. You_ will _hear from me regularly. I promise. I have to make sure you don't fall for some pure-background Jedi, don't I?_

_Always, my love,_

_Zekk._

-

Jaina crumpled the paper into a ball and hurled it against the wall. It had barely touched the ground before she retrieved it and flattened it once again.

She was only marginally comforted by the fact that she didn't have nearly as long to wait as _some_ people did.

Not mentioning any names, of course.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	30. Ch12: On Garik's Couch

**Elorinna Evenstarre**: Thanks! Leia will move on…eventually. Although I respect her, I don't like EU Leia that much—but she'll come around. ;P Thanks for reading!

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**Chapter Twelve: Jaina Takes Her Place on Garik's Couch**

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For Jaina, there was little more comforting than seeing her dad and Chewie tinkering with the _Millennium Falcon_. She had grown up around their exclamations, occasional curses – both in Wookiee and Corellian – and frustrated growls, in Chewie's case.

There was also little more exasperating than knowing her dad was ignoring her because he thought she was too "fragile" from her death experience to help him.

Maybe if she punched a dent through the _Falcon_…? But, no, that wouldn't work. Even if he _could_ see the difference on the already battered ship, he'd keep her fifty metres away from the ship for the rest of her life.

"That scowl isn't very complimentary," Garik remarked casually as he sat down next to her. " 'Turn that frown…upside down, into a _smile_…' and all." He grinned.

At least _Garik_ was getting (slightly) better at hiding his mother-hen-paranoia.

"Garik, dear," she drawled, "the Jedi children are in the west wing. Maybe _they_ would enjoy your cheesy slogans."

Eyes a-twinkling, he clutched his hands to his wiry chest as if in pain. "Milady. You wound me!"

"You can take it," she retorted, her lips quirking upward despite herself. "Wouldn't want you to be out of practice for your next Senate meeting, would we?"

He shoved his hands into his pockets and scowled. "Don't mention that, and I won't have to do something drastic."

"What – like blow them into the next dimension?" Her eyebrow raised. "C'mon. You're all talk, 'Rik. You'll never do anything about it – you like being the best too much." But she winked to let him know she was only teasing.

"Being stuck in Imperial quarters did something twisted to your brain," Garik despaired.

He hadn't learned yet that Jaina's moods were wont to swing as quickly as a child spinning down a slide, but he would find out quickly. Sanar's disposition thrust Jaina into a sulky attitude at Garik's words. "I _died_," she muttered peevishly. "You try it, and see how long you last."

The diplomat took it in silence – he had weathered her adolescence, and he would do the same with her black moods. Jaina couldn't keep anything in, but once it was out in the open, she was fine.

She moved about impatiently, chewing on her lip viciously, then turned back to him, as if he had started an argument. "People don't like realizing that I've changed, but how could I not?" she demanded, a myriad of emotions on her face.

"If not for Sanar and Zekk, I'd be dead. But when I try to explain that to people, they become even more afraid, because I'm here…I'm alive…but I shouldn't be. So they wonder if I'm really Jaina Solo, or if I'm possessed by something _else_. They probably think I'm evil," she muttered, eyes flashing.

It took all his control not to laugh at her melodrama. "Solo – really. No one thinks you're possessed."

"Then why, of all my friends, are you the only one who's actually shown up?" she retorted, her eyes becoming wet. "Tenel Ka's treating me like I have a fatal disease. I don't blame her, but… And Tiran…and Aarie…and Tayra…? Not even Kip – or _Miko_, for stars' sake! – has shown up, and it's been a week."

Garik leaned against the wall, watching her through heavy-lidded eyes. Silently, he damned the list of people she had offered. They were terrified, and only encouraging Jaina's own insecurity.

Well, they'd be hearing from _him_, if nothing else.

"They _are_ afraid," he agreed bluntly. "But I doubt any of them have decided you're evil."

He pushed off the wall and considered his words carefully. "You died, Solo. I think we all understand that better than you think. We had your funeral. We put some of your belongings and photos in a box and burned it. The Jedi felt you die, and Aarie still spasms and sobs and wails at the slightest provocation. Tiran hasn't slept properly in weeks, since he took over Aarylia's training because she has nightmares.

"But…slowly…some people started to accept your death. Let's face it – there have been plenty of losses in this war, and there will only be more. So maybe they started to put a lid on the memories. They made themselves think about something else – about the living. About the war.

"It's not easy to re-open part of your life once you've shut it. Besides: why you?"

Her head jerked up, and she looked hurt, but he continued anyway. She wanted the truth, and he'd give it to her. "Friends get killed all the time. Lovers are murdered. Siblings – parents – cousins – whatever – are slaughtered on an Imperial whim. _Why were you the one chosen to come back?_"

Jaina tucked her hands around her sides, as if she was cold, and she looked away, trying to hide her tears. It made him tired. Garik wished he could change the truth. He really, really did. But he'd heard too many lies in his life already. He wasn't going to be his parents, or his peers. Not if he could help it. Not with her.

"Who would you have preferred?" she asked stiffly. "Who do you wish you were seeing right now, Garik?"

His breath came out in a slow, heavy sigh. "You know me better than that, Solo."

"I wasn't chosen." The words came from her hidden face, soft and hesitant. "I wasn't – Garik, sometimes… If it weren't for Zekk, and you, and my parents and… I don't know if it'd be worth it." She ended in a whisper's shadow.

And that, he realized, was exactly what was bothering her. This possession stuff didn't touch her real concerns. He'd suspected there was something else, but this…?

_Kriff, Zekk. You ran far too soon._

Garik's gaze sharpened immediately and he stepped forward, touching his friend's elbow. "Jaina?"

"You saw one of my episodes," she whispered, as if even the words frightened her. "It won't be the last; it certainly wasn't the first. I barely sleep – especially now that Zekk's gone. I keep seeing…things…Sanar's life. Zekk's life. And…other stuff. I can't even – I can't even explain half of it."

"Humans adapt," he said, perhaps a little harshly than was necessary. "You are different, but you cannot be anything more than Jaina Solo."

"I saw my brothers, among others."

Garik flinched. "When you…died?" Why was it so hard to say that?

Jaina was studying her hands; Sanar's attitude had retreated when Garik had refused to react, but her own mood was dark. "Yes. I didn't _want_ to come back, Garik; I almost killed Sanar and Zekk when they tried to help me."

Well, he had wanted her to confide in him.

"I'd forgotten everything other than what dying would offer," Jaina continued, hugging herself, as if she was cold. "I only remembered because Zekk… It reminded me. I couldn't stand the idea of being _dead_; I'd fought so long to have him back, I'd hate myself if I wasn't there to help him after. I _deserve_ to be here, after everything."

"You came back for Zekk? No other reason?" The words stuck in his throat.

Jaina's mood lightened somewhat. "Oh, well, that was my initial reason. But as soon as I started remembering, fighting, I had my other reasons – my parents, my friends, proving one last time that Brakiss can't win against a Solo…"

"One last time?" Garik questioned, grateful for a new line of topic. He had enough to think about, to adjust to.

Jaina's mouth curled in pride and victory. "Zekk killed him."

Garik stared. "Impossible. Solo, Brakiss is still alive."

Her eyebrow raised. "Zekk threw Brakiss from a _balcony_, Garik," she snickered, looking only slightly worried. "We were three levels up. He _can't_ be alive."

"You came back from the dead; why couldn't he?"

"Because no one cares about him enough to do what Zekk and Sanar did for me," Jaina retorted.

"Maybe he did not die upon impact," Garik remarked carefully. "And you must remember that he is a Sith; who knows what control he has over his own death?"

Jaina's eyes widened in barely concealed concern. "If he's alive, he would go after Zekk."

"Indeed."

She reached out and jerked his wrist, as if to wake him. "Garik, it would be sheep to the slaughter."

"Do you have a way to contact him?"

Jaina nodded hesitantly. "He's in my head, remember?"

"Ah." It took a minute for that to sink in again. _Humans adapt_, he thought irritably, _but it always has to be the little things that take so relatively long, does it not?_ "Well, I suggest you…" he gestured helplessly, "do your thing."

Jaina's eyes closed and she relaxed. After a few seconds, she exhaled and nodded, her eyes opening once again. "Alright."

"Alright," he echoed.

They fell into comfortable silence, Jaina watching Han and Chewie as they worked on the _Falcon_, Garik absently studying the durocrete. They had been friends for a long time, and he, for one, was grateful that not only was she alive, but that they were on the right path to keeping that friendship, despite their internal changes. Very grateful.

"You're not the only one," he thought he heard Jaina murmur.

Garik smiled.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

...and ff.n format is being wonky again. Well, it wouldn't be...this place...if it stayed normal for long.

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	31. Ch13: Cerasy

**NOTE: This is the second update today, so if you haven't read the Garik/Jaina conversation…go back a click ;)**

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**Chapter Thirteen: Cerasy**

Sanar could have warned him, but that would have taken all the fun out of seeing Devnos' jaw drop. Falat, apparently, had not thought to say anything, either, so Devnos' reaction would be priceless – Sanar didn't need the Strings to tell her _that_. Thus it was that she sprawled against a corner, smirking as the bounty hunter waited impatiently.

The hunter had a nice cape, Sanar mused; maybe she should buy one and just disappear under it. She savoured that concept – being hidden under the darkness rather than _being_ it – then tucked it away for later as the hunter spoke.

"Where is he? I don't have time for this."

Sanar restrained a snicker. "Oh, he'll be along. Don't worry. What did you say your name was, again?"

The bounty hunter seemed to notice Sanar for the first time. "Cerasy," she said, putting her hands on her hips. "Who are you?"

The slave grinned mirthlessly. "I'm nobody."

Cerasy stepped further into the light, bright blue hair momentarily obscuring her face. "You're marked as a slave," she remarked.

Sanar shrugged. "I've been marked as worse."

The bounty hunter appeared to be considering her options. "What keeps you here?"

_Misguided loyalty. Fear. Hatred. _"Enough," she replied.

The bounty hunter's lips twisted in a scowl, and Sanar detected traces of disapproval in the Force. Before the hunter could say anything further, however, Devnos stormed into the quarters. "You are the one Falat called?" he demanded shortly.

Cerasy stepped forward, pulling back her hood to reveal her blue hair and angular features. "You are Devnos Klis?" she retorted, raising her chin.

Devnos' face twisted even further into a scowl when he realized the hunter's gender. "Obviously."

Sanar smirked and kicked her feet out in front of her. Her brother was already at boiling point without having to deal with the inferior gender. She might receive a smack for being nearby, but seeing Devnos spill over would be worth it.

"I haven't all day," Cerasy said briskly, now fully in the light. "What is the bounty?"

Devnos' teeth gritted as he held out a datapad. "I want Lord Onyx – alive or dead. If he is brought alive, however, your pay will double."

Cerasy's eyebrow raised, and Sanar thought she saw hatred flare in the hunter's eyes, but her gaze dropped to the paper before Sanar could be sure. "Is this sanctioned by the Empire?" Cerasy queried indifferently.

"I am working directly under the Emperor's commands, hunter," Devnos snapped. "If I was looking for an assassination, I wouldn't deal with potential screw-ups such as yourself."

Cerasy's eyes blazed as they shot up. " 'Screw ups'?" she repeated dangerously, her hand caressing the hilt of her blaster.

Devnos ignored her. "I demand that Onyx be brought only to _me_. If I find that you have turned your back on our deal, and sent him to another client, you will be better treated by your worst enemy. Do we understand each other?"

Eyes narrowed into slits, Cerasy slipped the datapad into a pocket on her belt. "Perfectly," she purred. "What is Onyx's crime?"

The Force flew toward the bounty hunter, and Cerasy gasped, raising a hand to her neck. Just as quickly, Devnos released her throat. "That is none of your concern."

Cerasy, however, refused to quit. "But it is," she insisted, her voice made out of nails. "I need to know with what I'm dealing."

Sanar thought he wouldn't reply, but Devnos surprised her. "The Empire is keeping this quiet," he began, as if it was being dragged out of him, "but you are dealing with a traitor. Onyx attempted to murder the Emperor before disappearing. It is suspected that he escaped with Jaina Solo – a Rebel that seduced him, before or during her enslavement."

Cerasy stilled for the briefest of moments, then smirked. "You want me to take down someone who tried to do the galaxy a favour? Your false Emperor has killed too many friends for me to do anything but laugh at his incompetence," she scoffed. "So, even Onyx has turned on him? Well, it won't be long now…"

Devnos' lightsaber buzzed to life in his hands, making Sanar raise an eyebrow. "Well, then, it will be my pleasure to add you to your fallen friends' numbers."

So fast she was a blur, Cerasy drew two high-power blasters and aimed them straight at Devnos' chest. "Like hell you will."

Sanar couldn't restrain her laughter. It just got better and better. Devnos was being _humiliated_ – and by a woman, no less! _Wait until I tell…the ceiling. _But even the reminder of her isolation couldn't get her down.

To Sanar's delight, Devnos stepped back, eyeing Cerasy with caution. "I wouldn't advise that."

"Good thing I don't listen to Imperials," Cerasy retorted. "I've taken down my share of Dark Jedi, Devnos Klis; try to stop me and you'll become a statistic."

Truth rang through Cerasy's words, and Devnos lowered his blade with a snarl. "I can describe you," he warned, trying to recover his dignity. "The Empire will track you down."

Cerasy only laughed mockingly. "Right. Onyx and all his top-secret information are on the loose…and the Empire will worry about one, little Rebel sympathizer? I don't think so. Now, drop your lightsaber and roll it over to the slave. If you even think of giving it to him, Missy," she added in Sanar's direction, "I'll put a hole through his chest."

Sanar considered throwing the lightsaber back at Devnos. Which would be better: humiliated Devnos, or dead Devnos?

"You may as well shoot now and save yourself the quick movement, then," Devnos said, voice dripping with disdain. "Sanar would like nothing less than to see me dead. _Niftyax_."

Cerasy grinned. "I'm just waiting for the take-advantage situation, you slimy, pus-filled _Imp. _Tell me, who does your hair? Or do you even need a hair stylist? Maybe you anger Brakiss so much that he just electrocutes you until your hair falls out in clumps…"

Devnos looked thrown for a second before he made a scornful expression. "Only Rebel dreamers believe that the Emperor is not Palpatine."

The bounty hunter chuckled softly as she backed toward the door. "Better a dreamer than a moron. Better a dreamer than a doomed man." Then, completely out of the blue, Cerasy demanded, "Is Jaina Solo alive?"

Sanar's eyes narrowed and, despite herself, she replied before her brother could. "Why?"

Cerasy's head whipped over to the slave, but her weapons did not waver. "You know something?"

"I used to belong to Onyx."

Comprehension dawned in Cerasy's eyes, quickly followed by calculation. "Part of his harem, were you? Disgusting business," she added under her breath. "Poor Jay."

Sanar's curiosity peaked until she almost forgot her brother. "Jaina changed him," she told the other woman, as meaningfully as she could. An unacknowledged part of her hoped this woman was a friend of Jaina's; if Cerasy knew Jaina, after all…

What? She might be a friend for _Sanar_? The slave rolled her eyes. Whatever was possessing her to think of Jaina as a…friend or, worse, a _sister_ was becoming increasingly annoying.

Cerasy lowered one of her weapons and methodically unlocked the door behind her. "Is she alive?"

"The Emperor saw her as a threat," Sanar continued, speeding up her message as Devnos' glare intensified. "He captured and wounded Jaina. I've never seen anyone survive that kind of head trauma, no matter how strong or how smart they are."

Devnos' left eye twitched, just a little.

Just to spite him, Sanar projected her thoughts loudly in the woman's mind. /_She is alive. Zekk turned back and saved her. They returned to her family_./ Quickly, she reached out and listened carefully for a response. Hopefully, even if the woman wasn't Force sensitive, she would think loud enough for Sanar to hear.

Cerasy's face was impassive, but her eye twitched, and Sanar knew her message had been received. _Thank you_, the bounty hunter put forth clumsily. _I won't forget this. _

Even before the words finished echoing in Sanar's mind, Cerasy turned away, as if in pain. "Very well, then. She won't be the last fighter to fall, thanks to the Hutt slime." Her eyes flashed up to glower at Devnos.

Devnos' hand had begun moving slowly down to his belt, and Sanar sent as much warning to Cerasy through the Force as she could manage. Her brother wasn't slithering out of this one!

Cerasy aimed and fired, the laser just whispering past Devnos' neck. "Don't even think about it," she warned, stepping forward, all business again. "I'm going to leave alive, and I have never been reluctant to take out an enemy."

Her eyes slid over to Sanar, and the corner of her mouth quirked upwards for a second. "But thanks for reminding me." She whammed her blaster down on Devnos' head, causing him to sprawl against the wall, unconscious.

Spitting a curse at the fallen Dark Jedi, Cerasy kicked him in the side once, then glanced up at Sanar. "Sanar, right?" The slave nodded. "Well, are you coming?

Sanar's mind slowed down. Cerasy wanted to take her along? _What? _It was more than tempting. Escaping Devnos promised something she had given up on: freedom. Larifx, with that, she might even have a prayer for redemption. Away from her brother. She might be able to heal.

But…

But what? Every instinct Sanar possessed ordered her to stay put.

_You are still needed. You cannot run. He will only bring you back. Do not assume you know everything. _

"I need to stay – for now." Each word was a bushel of thorns, clawing their way through her throat.

Cerasy gave her a disbelieving look. "_Stay_? Are you insane?" Her face darkened. "You aren't his…"

Sanar interrupted before the bounty hunter could voice her gruesome thought. "No. He's my brother."

"In war, blood means nothing more than victory." Despite her words, Cerasy seemed to understand – just a little.

"I will escape him," Sanar replied defiantly. "But…not yet. I don't know why, but I need to stay here. There's something…" She shrugged.

The bounty hunter nodded slowly, then threw her a dagger. Sanar ducked with a soft exclamation, then picked the blade up where it fell. "For insurance," Cerasy explained, flipping her blue hair. "For telling me about Jaina, however, I am indebted to you. I know people who will survive on that information." She bobbed her head. "If you ever need harbour, go to Gali on the planet Upiac. My name will lend you help."

Sanar blinked and slowly stood. How, she wondered, was she supposed to react to _that_? "I don't need your pity," she spat.

Cerasy smirked. "Whatever you say, Blue."

Sanar's eyebrow lifted. How did _she_ receive the nickname "Blue" when Cerasy…? _Whatever_.

"Last chance," Cerasy offered.

Damning herself for turning down the opportunity, Sanar shook her head.

Cerasy's eyes lingered on Sanar, but then the bounty hunter shrugged and threw open the door she had left behind. "He'll have a headache when he wakes up. Get out of the way while he stumbles around. Guys are such babies," Sanar heard her finish sourly as she hopped back into her ship.

Even Sanar had to smile a little at that.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	32. Ch14: Aarie and Krista

**So, after an insanely long hiatus that had nothing to do with _writing_, and everything to do with this site, I'm trying again. The good news is, even if this is never completed here, it _has_ been finished elsewhere (link to my off-ff.n fic index is in my profile). I'll focus on updating this one regularly anyway.**

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**Chapter Fourteen: Aarie and Krista**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina had accused her friends of avoiding her, but she was old enough to realize that she could be blamed for the same thing. Of the people in her head, however, Sanar was the only one technically old enough to go face that, which, of course, meant that it might be a while. Eventually, however, Sanar's well-ingrained self-hatred propelled Jaina to face one of the people she certainly didn't want to see.

The Empire had not touched a single hair on Lusa's head, but her emotional agony screamed at every Force sensitive on the planet. It had been this way ever since a Nightsister slaughtered Raynar in front of the Jedi healer. Raynar's sacrifice had not been in vain, and the Nightsister had never seen Lusa, but Jaina wondered if the centaur woman wasn't the most bitter about that very thing.

The last thing Lusa had ever said before locking herself away was, "All that blood. Why could it not have been mine? I would have spilled a vein, if I had thought it would help."

Jaina knew how the centaur felt. Perhaps that should have made her more patient with Lusa, made her more willing to reach out and comfort her friend.

She had only been able to see Lusa once, for little more than fifteen minutes. Even if she could have born it, Jaina was one with Zekk and the Empire in Lusa's mind. Lusa hadn't screamed, but Jaina might have been able to deal with it better if she had.

Instead, she received that stare. That dead, furious, pleading, tragic _stare_. It had demolished every protective wall Jaina possessed.

Jaina shuddered at the memory, and almost turned around and back to her room. There was no reason for her to see Lusa – not really. Lusa wanted to see no one, least of all Jaina. The Solo daughter would probably have a difficult time getting past the doctors, simply because of her last reception. Onyx had exactly zilch to do with Lusa's trauma, and Jaina had never even _seen_ the Nightsister who killed Raynar.

None of it was her fault, in any way. No one even looked at her when they mentioned Lusa's pain. No one offered comfort or recriminations, like they did when other war victims were brought up. Why should they?

Why should Jaina feel that she _had_ to face Lusa?

The white hallway seemed to close in around her, choking her. Her breathing became irregular, and Jaina felt a slow kind of panic take hold. What if she had an attack, away from Zekk and anyone who even half understood? What if it was one of the worse ones – the type that sent her consciousness flying from her body for hours at a time – when Zekk wasn't around to help?

"Shavit. I guess there's something to the rumours, after all."

Jaina whirled around, one hand over her stomach and the other on her lightsaber hilt. When she saw who it was, her heart slowed down again. "Hello, Tir, Aarie," she greeted, swallowing.

Tiran Lee-droy stepped in front of Aarylia, hiding her from view as if Jaina was going to attack. "They told me you were alive again, but I didn't believe them. I still don't."

Jaina flinched. "Well, it's me."

"Kip would say the same."

Jaina tried to get a feel of Aarie's emotions, but they were too chaotic, and too clouded by Tiran's turbulent aura. "I'm not a clone."

"Well, then, definitely stay away from me," he retorted, his voice hard. "No one survives death."

For perhaps the first time since her death, only Jaina was in her head. Her Sanar-part was conspicuously silent, and even her generous bond with Zekk was closed. It felt lonelier than she remembered.

"Not exactly the welcome I was hoping for," she heard herself say with awkward bravado. "You might have at least said hi."

Tiran took Aarie's hand in reassurance. "If you were really the Jaina Solo I knew, you would have come home a month ago."

Jaina's throat was too dry to respond out loud. _Yes, I was selfish!_ she wanted to yell. _I didn't think you would have my funeral, and steal my apprentice, and hate me! I took the time I needed to recover, and I'm _glad.

Tiran shouldered past her with Aarie staying close to him, her orange hair sticking out every which way. Jaina thought the girl wouldn't even acknowledge her, but at the last minute Aarie's blue eyes flew over her shoulder to see Jaina. At the pain in Aarie's eyes, the Jedi felt something within her rip.

"Aarie…" She spoke without thinking, and as consequence her voice was raw with emotion. "I'm so sorry."

The little girl sobbed and ran to the woman, nearly bowling Jaina over. "I hate you!" she screamed, even as she burrowed herself in her former master's arms. "_How could you?_"

Ignoring Tiran's mixed expression, Jaina dropped to her knees and held the girl close. "I'm sorry. So, so sorry," she whispered, rocking the apprentice gently. "I came as soon as I was healthy. I didn't want to scare anyone."

Aarylia's torrent of tears became a miserable drizzle. "Don't go again. I'll be brave. I won't let them catch me," she cried. "Just don't go – please…"

"I'm right here. It's okay."

Tiran would just have to deal, and Lusa…well, maybe it wasn't _Lusa_ that the Force had wanted Jaina to see.

"I'm not going anywhere."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Zekk arrived on the remote planet with an attack of nerves. He had found Krista only through intensive investigation, and almost by accident. Although not quite sure if he would ever get over the humiliation of the how, he kept his focus on the image of Jaina's smile.

He would see her again, free of his restraints – or at least as much as he could be. He would fight…for her, if nothing else.

Krista Harif could help him with that. It was impossible to pin her as one thing, for she was everything – dancer, mechanic, gossip, humanist, and smuggler, among other things. But the thing that drew Zekk to her was Krista's fixed position in the NR Intelligence world. She was young, true, but with one brother in the business, and with her quick maturity (if it could be called that), she had wormed her way into the world of political secrets.

Secrets: Onyx found his only use in them. Onyx had been indispensable for years – it was probably the only thing that kept him alive. The Empire would have fallen apart very quickly if anyone else knew even half of what Onyx did.

Zekk was going to enjoy seeing just how true that was.

If, that is, Krista was willing to trust him. To his embarrassment, she had had a crush on him, once, but five years of knowing about his evil would no doubt have erased that infatuation completely. Krista was an acquaintance of Jaina's, but with rumours of Jaina's death flying around, that would probably only lower his standing in the young woman's eyes.

"You'll never know until you try," he told himself, but the pep talk did nothing to help.

The abandoned military base where Krista had set up camp was not exactly encouraging to the dark-haired man. The reasons for her disappearance to the backwater planet of Hhu'tini were ambiguous, to say the least, but Zekk suspected it had something to do with her overprotective brothers. In which case, she was probably grounded, and he might be able to bargain with getting her off planet.

_If_ he wanted to face her brothers, of course. Which he didn't, really, but one couldn't be picky with the conditions of redemption.

The door of the base opened even before he touched it, and Zekk's head shot up to see a surveillance cam. Krista knew he was coming, now. He could only hope she hadn't booby-trapped the entire base to blow up the instant he stepped inside.

"I kind of expected you to be a lot earlier," Krista's voice boomed, even before Zekk was fully inside the front reception area. "It's been a month, after all. But then again," the young woman considered out loud, "I suppose you've been busy escaping."

Zekk looked around, but couldn't locate the blond woman-of-all-trades. "I'm that predictable, am I?"

"People in your situation usually are."

He started to ask what she meant, but decided to wait. "Uh…Krista? Where are you?"

"Oh. Right." Krista laughed, light and airy. She still sounded like a child, but that was deceptive – to her brothers' disappointment. "Just follow the lights – on the floor, you know."

At her command, a series of lights created a path in the western direction. "I take it you were bored," he remarked, noting how intricately she had planned everything. "Did your brothers lock you up again?"

"They _stranded_ me, if that's what you mean," the seventeen-year-old moaned. "Can you believe it? They just dumped me on this backwater planet." Just as he was about to ask why, she continued. "It's not like I was doing anything _wrong_. I swear it looked worse than it was."

Although quite certain he would regret it, Zekk asked, "What did you do this time?"

"I'm almost eighteen! I should be able to do what I want. If that happens to be spending extra time…ah, training…with my boyfriend, so what?"

No doubt her brothers had caught Krista about to do an Unforgivable, Adult Thing with her newest fling. "How's your boyfriend doing?"

"Oh." Krista's voice was almost scornful. "Gryq said Mikhail will recover…eventually."

Zekk stopped, momentarily paralysed. "Your brothers aren't here now, are they?"

"Oh, no. Gryq is on Mon Cal pretending he has work to do when he's really making out with Tayra. The other two are creating havoc for the Empire. I swear, I don't know if it's a good thing or a bad thing that they met up with the Wraiths…"

Zekk sighed in relief. The Solo family was terrifying, but at least they had a diplomat to hold them back every now and then. Krista's older brothers – Gryq, Bull and Cel – were fiercely protective of their sister ever since the four siblings were orphaned. Zekk had made it a point to never cross them.

The tone of Krista's voice suddenly sunk in. It was typical of her – gossipy, pouty and impatient. What if she didn't know about him and Onyx? How couldn't she? "You _do_ know who I am, right?"

Krista rolled her eyes. "You were Lord Onyx of the Sith," she recited in a bored voice, "galactic bad boy and Brakiss' lapdog. However, after Brakiss murdered your true love, you turned back and became that lovely, sweet, good guy we always knew you were. Your first act was to avenge said love-of-your-life, and you promptly chucked Brakiss over a balcony. _Honestly_, what kind of Intel operative do you think I am?"

She sounded genuinely offended, and Zekk flushed. "You just sound so…normal."

"Sorry," Krista offered dryly. "Would you rather I jump around screaming?"

He opened the final door and walked in. Krista had set up camp in the base control room, and the place was a mess. "It's what I've come to expect," he admitted.

She spun around in her chair and casually saluted with her blaster. "I don't shoot people who give me information. This war is losing its finesse. You know, when we started, this whole business had an order in it. You could get a job done without seeing team members die. Now it's all just one big, bloody, vengeful mess."

"When has war ever been anything else?" he replied, confused.

The girl shrugged and half-grinned. "I like backstabbing. That's fun. There are rules for that. Besides, if someone starts ticking you off, you can shoot them under the table and walk away without a problem."

Zekk stared at her. "Why do I have the feeling you'll end up in politics?"

Krista's eyes gleamed, but she didn't respond. "So, what do you need to help me bring down the Big Bads?"

"At the very least, something that will keep me from being killed by NR operatives."

Krista studied him. "I heard through the grapevine that Jaina is still alive. Is that peasant rabble, or should I start mingling with the little people again?"

Briefly, a smile stole his expression, and his eyes softened. "Start planning your outfits: she's alive."

Krista sighed, but her eyes were content. "Well, I suppose I'll just have to languish in my self-pity for a while, then." Seeing his expression, she grinned harmlessly. "Don't get me wrong: I'm ecstatic you had your happily ever after. You know me – always the romantic."

"But…?" Zekk's eyes narrowed.

Krista had the newfound decency to blush. "Well, you know, turning your back on evil because someone's love changed you… it's kind of, well, it's kind of sexy."

" '_Sexy'_?" he repeated, aghast.

She smiled devilishly.

Zekk's cheeks burned. _I really need to learn how and when to keep quiet._ "It is not," he muttered.

Krista shrugged, her blush fading. "Calm down. It's not like I'm going to jump you. I mean, Jaina would kill me, and I wouldn't even be able to make a good show of it. My old training lightsaber's rubble. I value my life, thank you very much."

"Could we, uh, talk about something else…please?"

Krista beamed pleasantly. "Of course."

He mentally flailed for a moment before finding a safe topic. "I don't know how much influence I still have – "

"You have enough," Krista answered. "Brakiss is trying to keep your betrayal quiet."

Brakiss. Zekk still wasn't used to thinking of his former master as still alive. It would figure, the young man thought darkly, that the one time he murdered someone who actually deserved it, he would screw it up royally. "He may have changed my passcodes, in any case."

Krista dismissed his concern with a casual wave. "Of course he has. It's been a month, after all. But he couldn't change too much without people noticing. Rumours would start up, and Brakiss can't have _anything_ undermining his authority – not now. Don't worry, though – a good hacker can do plenty with what you left behind."

She stood and began to pace. "Every Imperial knows your face – you've threatened or otherwise spoken to them at some point or another." The blonde ignored his flinch at the reminder. "The Empire is built out of iron," she continued, "but they always put too much into faulty ideas."

Her movement slowed as she thought, and then she snapped her fingers in enlightenment. "I've got it. You're going to take me off-planet first, though."

He stared at her bleakly. "You do realize that your brothers will have to take a number for the 'kill Zekk/Onyx' line, don't you?"

The young woman rolled her blue eyes. "We'll talk about that later. Besides, you don't really have a choice. If I continue to receive information without being able to help, I'll go insane. Cel rigged my comm. so that I can only get reports." She sighed in self-pity. "I couldn't have had sisters, could I?

A second later, she perked up. "Now, here's what we'll do…"

* * *

_Comments are, as always, love._

_-**Tjz**  
_


	33. Ch15: I Know Who You Really Are

**Chapter Fifteen: "I Know Who You Really Are"**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"It's _disgusting_," she snarled at her reflection. "And if you say anything about redemption or heroism, Durron, I'll do something drastic."

Kyp Durron was only a sheen in her mirror, but Sanar knew he looked puzzled. "What is disgusting?"

"Not that it's any of _your_ business," Sanar said, crossing her arms over her chest, "but…look at me! I'm some kind of flabby, limp noodle, pasty…creature!" To emphasize her point, she spun around, throwing her arms out. "I used to at least be _decent_."

Durron studied her, then rolled his eyes. "You're fishing for compliments now, aren't you?"

"I'm a big, shapeless sack," she moaned. "I can't even stretch anymore, I'm so pudgy."

Something rumbled, and Sanar looked up in shock. Was the dead man _laughing_ at her? She fumed. "I can still tell Devnos about Jaina and Zekk, you know! It would be an excellent bargaining tool."

"Sanar," Kyp chuckled, "if you were going to spill the beans to save yourself, you would have left with Cerasy. Besides, you love hating me too to do something that might scare me away."

She perked up. "I can do things to make you leave?"

"Only if there really is no hope of redemption for you." He paused. "Which means that I only go when you do."

She swore and flopped onto her bed. Of course it was too good to be true. "Then I'm back to my old complaint."

"I suppose you want a high energy activity that will take your mind off things? Within your room, and away from Devnos?"

Her hand fell to her stomach as she remembered what had become a regular, painful occurrence lately. "I don't know if I can handle high energy," she admitted almost sullenly. "But away from my brother – obviously."

When she looked up, Durron was rocking on his heels mischievously. She didn't comment on his actions; she had given up on understanding him a long time ago. "I could always train you – as a Jedi, I mean," he offered, grinning.

She laughed out loud before turning her nose on him. "If I wanted to be a hero, I'd want to be trained by someone with a better track record."

"Hey!" he protested indignantly. "I was a six-week apprentice when I last _really_ screwed up. Besides, even if I'm not a good Knight, I'm a _great_ Master. I trained Jaina, after all, and look how she turned out!"

"Oh, that'll convince me," Sanar replied, her voice sticky sweet. "I've always wanted to be the slave of a Sith lord." She blinked, then rethought her wording. "Wait…"

"Technically, you did," Kyp piped in. "Heck, you even managed to convince yourself that you were in love with – "

"Oh, shut up, Durron," she scowled. "Just…shut up. You and Devnos are going to drive me insane."

"Aw, come on," Kyp wheedled. "Admit it: you like me just a _little_ better than Devnos."

"If I did – and I _don't_," she denied when she saw his eyes light up, "it would only be because you're too dead to try to kill me."

"I could teach you how to fight!" Devnos realized happily. "Then you can keep out of those smack-downs of his, or even have one of your own."

If Durron expected her to be excited about the possibilities, he was disappointed. Sanar's eyes became grim. "Devnos is planning something," she muttered, almost to herself. "He didn't even hit me after Cerasy left and he woke up."

"Cerasy can be scary when she wants to be," Durron said, unconcerned. "If it makes you feel better, for whatever twisted reason, I'm sure he'll be back to normal and hurting you again soon."

"You don't understand," Sanar fretted. "He just…_looked_ at me. And if it wasn't completely parallel universe, I'd _swear_ he asked me if I was okay. And before you say it again, my brother is _never_ afraid."

"It's rather juvenile of you to believe that, don't you think?"

She sat up and stared hard at the ghost. "The last time I saw my brother afraid was when he left to become a 'man', under Rafintair's tutelage. Since then, he's been too hard to care about anything enough to be scared."

Even if Sanar appeared to have forgotten who she was speaking to, Kyp hadn't. He winced. "Everyone is afraid of something."

Sanar didn't reply for a moment. "I think he's…poisoning me," she confessed.

Kyp forced an incredulous laugh. "Don't be ridiculous."

"I've been sick after every meal – without fail," Sanar argued. "I'm losing energy fast."

"There _are_ such things as viruses, you know. It's entirely possible that – "

"No. This is different. He's poisoning me. I know it."

"So that's why you stopped eating?" he mused, eyeing her worriedly. "You know, if you keep this up, he won't even need to _look_ for a suitable poison. Oh, and which are you – starving or pudgy? I mean, _I_ think you look magnificent, but…"

She scowled. "I was starting to forget about that."

"Eating would help your memory."

"All the more reason to keep at it," she retorted.

Kyp's gaze swept over her appraisingly. She was still pretty, but her cheeks were beginning to hollow, and everything about her screamed that she was worn down. "I wouldn't advise you to continue that thought pattern," he said thickly.

She smirked. "Reverse psychology might work better on me, considering who you are." Almost immediately, her smile died and she fell back, her face ashen.

Kyp reached out to her before reality crashed in around him again. She would never accept his comfort, even if he _could_ touch her. "Don't you think," he said instead, "that Devnos would have stopped the poison by now?" She didn't respond, only pulled her knees up against her chest. "Please, Sanar. Don't do this to yourself."

_You'll kill yourself if this continues. Don't. You have so much waiting…_

He would never know the reason for Sanar's startled eyes – not if she could help it. **_He_** made all the difference in the galaxy.

Kyp Durron, her father's murderer, could never understand something like that.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar had always been frustratingly stubborn, but never more so than when she got the bizarre idea that he would ever poison her. When she had first declared the reasons for her fast, Devnos had laughed. It was absurd – even more so than her childhood fascination with the – well. Devnos didn't even want to think about _that_. It was all too priceless.

Besides, there were particular…forces…that Devnos wanted to keep in the dark as much as possible. It simply wouldn't do to bring certain things – Sanar, for example – to anyone's attention.

Not that it would matter much if Sanar never ate again!

"Sanar Klis," he thundered through her door, "I am _not_ trying to poison you!" It was not, perhaps, the most reassuring speech, but she had never listened to anything other than passion.

Damn it! Why did she have to be so impossible? One would think she was out to ruin his life.

The door swung open, revealing Sanar's wan but fierce visage. "How, after all we've been through, can you expect me to trust _anything_ you say?"

Devnos gritted his teeth. He _would_ bear with her foolishness, if only because she seemed set on making him tick. "You're still sick. Any poison I use would have stopped by now." A thought struck him, and he eyed her wearily. "What if you're pregnant?"

She glared. "There are so many problems with that suggestion, I won't even get started."

The dark-haired man rolled his eyes and hid his relief. "What is it going to take for you to end your fast?"

"It's only been two weeks," she retorted cheekily. "I'm not being bargained out of something that isn't yet dangerous."

His breath came out in a hiss, and he grabbed a hunk of bread off her tray, which he held in one hand. Tearing a piece out, he quickly ate it. "See? No poison." When she continued to stare at him, he shoved the tray into her arms. "You won't get any water until you've finished this."

_Why do you even pretend to care? I know you don't, and you can't make me believe you do! Not again!_ The words, spiteful and wounded, were screamed into his head until his mind rang with her accusations.

Devnos kept walking.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

It _looked_ innocent enough: a now ripped but thick piece of bread, a little meat, and some juri fruit. The Strings and the Force were both quiet. The bread, at least, was probably safe – Devnos' grab had been random.

But what if he kept the antidote nearby? What if he had built up his immune system? What if the poison was more lethal than the last time? What if this one was meant to be so powerful that she would never even need the promised water?

Sanar protested indifference about her survival, but taking death when it came and willingly swallowing her fatality were two very different things. But if she didn't have water… The only way she could even possibly survive was if she asked Durron for help.

Her pride or her life? It was a difficult choice…

Sanar's hand reached out for the food. As if in a dream, she began to eat.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Devnos rolled his eyes, still chuckling at Sanar's folly as he sat at his desk. When his gaze fell on his men's reports, Devnos' forehead crinkled in quiet amazement, his laughter fading into the background. It was almost incomprehensible to him that Na'Lein'yhpaon was still out for Sanar's head. He had expected Rafintair and the priests to leave well enough alone after Onyx's intervention. She was off their planet, wasn't she? She had been pardoned, hadn't she?

But they had only let Sanar go when threatened with the destruction of their regime – something of which Devnos was all too aware.

Well, Devnos had enough honour to keep an eye on her. Sanar would be less than useless to anyone if she was dead, after all. And besides, no matter how much he tried to deny it, she _was_ his sister. That had meant something, once.

_**Give her up.**_

Devnos swallowed and cursed himself in the deepest, most secret part of himself. When, when, _when_ would he learn? He needed to keep control over his thoughts!

_The priests_ _would make it easy on her. She would remain proud, arrogant. I can do so much better than death or employment._

_**Did you not hear what I said? Turn her away.**_

_No._

Pain exploded in his mind, as if **IT** had blown his brain to pieces. His screams, as always, never left his mouth.

_**Send her to us!**_

_No._

_**YES!**_

_Never._

Everything went black.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Devnos sighed and sat down behind his desk. He was suddenly too tired to laugh at the niftyax's suspicions, but no matter. His amusement would keep.

When his gaze fell on his men's reports, Devnos' forehead crinkled in detached amusement. It was almost incomprehensible to him that there were still so many bounty hunters and assassins looking for the niftyax with which he had been saddled. He was becoming annoyed by their determination. Well, he had enough honour to –

The buzzing, scraping feeling started in his mind, and Devnos froze.

_Bz. Bz. Bzzzz…Vrr…ick…Click._

Maybe, Devnos thought frantically, he should take her in and keep the bounty for himself. It wasn't as if the arrogant niftyax mattered, after all – Devnos chuckled at the thought! No, she was only a woman, after all – weak, unimportant, just like his ties to the rest of his foolish, rebellious family…

_**That's right.**_

Devnos' hands blindly brushed the datapads to the side, and he grabbed the list of bounty hunters Falat had made.

_Don't think. Don't feel_, he reminded himself.

When his numbed eyes managed to pick up on the changeling assassin's gender, he only thought, _Good. She is expendable._

It was a safe thought.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_You're too important for anyone  
There's something wrong with everything you see  
But I, I know who you really are  
You're the one who cries when you're alone  
Where will you go  
With no one left to save you from yourself  
You can't escape  
You can't escape  
- Where Will You Go_ by Evanescence

* * *

Please review :) 

-Tjz


	34. Ch16: The Story of Jala and Sealer

**Chapter Sixteen: The Story of Jala and Sealer**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The Imperials renewed their attack on Hapes right in the middle of the Royal Luncheon with the people, when the royals ate with the public. No one had expected the traditional meal to last, and so the chamber was cleared within minutes when the generals and other leaders raced to their stations.

It had only lasted a few hours, but already the battle was a disaster; Tenel Ka could tell from just one glance at the sky. Her grandmother, currently Mother Regent at the request of the people, was too proud to accept "too much" aid from the Rebel pilots. A few of the battered, assorted fighter ships that displayed the old NR symbol were in the air, but most had yet to be untied from the bureaucracy that now choked even the military.

Tenel Ka would not have made that mistake. She knew that, and it pained the royalty that ran, unacknowledged, through her veins. She wanted nothing to do with the throne – with the political games, petty disputes and poorly-planned assassination attempts.

Or did she? Would she give it up, if her people needed her?

_They need you now_.

Tenel Ka felt a sigh escape her as she watched the sky from her chamber window. Ta'a Chume had, at the request of the people, temporarily taken the crown. She had been a powerful monarch, unhesitating, unflinching; she was exactly what was needed to reassure the people during the war.

But Tenel Ka, if she took the chance, could do that, as well – and more.

Eventually, Ta'a Chume would have to step down from the Regency; she had served her time, had given up the throne. Hapan law was already stretched to its limits to accommodate the people's wishes for a short time. What would happen when that period ended?

Tenel Ka was more convinced than ever that her role as a Jedi was important – both to herself and to the galaxy. But what if the best way she could be a Jedi was by being the queen mother of a consortium of sixty-three star systems? She could deny it, turn her back on her royal heritage, but Prince Isolder and Queen Mother Teneniel Djo had raised their daughter to be honest. Tenel Ka would need to make her choice soon.

It was times like these that she most missed Jacen.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina wanted nothing more than to be in the air, defending Hapes. As it was, she had been deemed "too weak and traumatized to fight," and shuttled away with the children.

The _children_. Before her capture, she had spent all her time with them because they couldn't judge her for her association with Zekk, and they loved her unconditionally. But now was really not the time. She had things to _do_. She was never meant to be a baby-sitter, or worse – an _invalid_.

"Just breathe, Solo," Garik said in his maddeningly calm, I-know-you-agree-with-me, politician voice. "Some of your curses aren't exactly appropriate for children's ears."

Which, of course, made all of the 'younglings' stop what they were doing to memorize anything went past Jaina's lips.

The Corellian woman stared at their young faces, then sat down next to Garik with a loud, frustrated sigh. "I just hate being so useless. The war could end and we still wouldn't know until dawn, we're so far down."

Garik looked around the underground safe house. "It's not so bad."

"To you it isn't; you willingly spend all your time being stifled by an office or by the Senate. I recently escaped these kinds of places." Jaina scowled, remembering her captivity in the Imperial Palace.

Shaking his head, Garik took out a datapad. "Who wants to hear a story?" he asked the children, ignoring his friend's continued complaints.

The children were familiar with the ginger-haired man, having spent nearly every attack with him, and they quickly crowded around his chair. Even the prospect of learning a Bad Word paled in comparison to stories and distraction from the bombs that fell above them.

Jaina continued to stomp about the room, checking her chrono every few minutes. Garik glanced at her, then down at his datapad. He shrugged, pocketing it. Maybe he could do more than calm agitated nerves with this storytelling session.

"Once upon a time," he began, as he always did, "there were two friends. One of them, Jala, was a princess, but she preferred to spend time with her best friend, Sealer, whom she had met at the public park."

One of the younger ones grabbed Garik's leg. "Was she pretty?"

"Oh, she was alright, I guess." Garik smirked when Jaina paused long enough to raise an eyebrow at him. "But don't think she acted like a princess," he continued. "Jala would rather fly her ship too fast than wear a dress.

"One day, an evil man named Nyx came to Jala's planet. Now, all the royalty in the various lands had special powers – yes, Gini, exactly like Jedi," Garik answered, seeing the boy begin to speak. The Calamarian's mouth snapped shut.

"Nyx wanted to be powerful, too, but he knew that none of the princes or princesses would help him. Fortunately for him, he knew that one prince, from the other side of the planet, had been kidnapped when he was very young, so Nyx searched him."

"Sealer!" Aarylia realized, then frowned and looked up at Jaina. "Wait a minute…"

Well, Aarie had figured it out, unsurprisingly enough. It was nice to see her participating again. Garik smiled at the preteen. "Yes, Sealer was a prince, but he didn't know it. See, he had been very young when he was kidnapped, and he could not remember anything about his home.

"When Nyx found the prince, he told Sealer that everyone else, even Jala, had known about him, and had disowned him."

As one, the children's eyes widened. A scattering of _No_'s echoed in the room. Jaina's gaze remained locked on Garik. "Disowned him" – her friend's choice of words was all too accurate. For a second, her eyes squeezed shut as the guilt overwhelmed her again. If only she had realized earlier…

But, Jaina reminded herself, she was too old for that – she had seen too much to worry about the past. The future was a big enough problem in and of itself.

"Sealer was hurt and confused, and he was swayed into going with Nyx." As if to punctuate Garik's words, a bomb rumbled over their heads. Jaina's eyes latched onto the ceiling in impatient concern, but Garik only spoke louder, regaining the children's attention.

"When Sealer realized that he had been tricked, he tried to escape but it was too late. Nyx put a magic potion in Sealer's drink, making Sealer evil. In fact, Sealer was barely even Sealer anymore. He changed his name to Orif, and all of Sealer's goodness was locked up tight, deep down, where the real Sealer could never escape. It was with Orif that Nyx commanded an army."

"What about Jala?" Liguis whispered.

Garik's eyes saddened, but only Aarie picked up on it; Jaina was too busy waiting for a bomb to rip through the safe house's ceiling. "Jala wouldn't believe that Sealer was gone; she was the only one who insisted that Orif and Sealer were not the same person. Because of that, many people turned their backs on her. You see, Orif and Nyx overthrew Jala's planet's government, and many people were killed. Most people hated Orif, but Jala continued to protest his innocence. People couldn't understand that."

"It's not a very happy story," a young Wookiee said through his translator droid.

"Not really," Garik agreed. "But, see, the years passed and Nyx became the king, and Orif became a prince again. Orif-Sealer remembered Jala, and he captured her and made her a slave."

Righteous denials were shouted, recapturing Jaina's attention. She considered adding an explanation, but decided that "Orif's" lust would only confuse the story that Garik had painstakingly tailored for the younglings.

"Wait until the end to talk," Garik called, gesturing for quiet. After a few more grumbles, the children did so. "When Jala was taken captive, she had all but given up on Sealer. She had seen him destroy many people, and even her love for him – which had been realized after he became Orif – was faltering. She didn't believe Sealer would purposely hurt someone, but Orif was doing just that. She decided, however, to try to release Sealer's goodness one last time."

"But that was all tied up – deep down, where he could never escape," Aarie protested softly. Her gaze was not on Garik, but rather on Jaina, at whom she looked with new, quiet respect.

"Sometimes," Jaina said, speaking for the first time, "the things that are buried the furthest down are really hidden in plain sight."

The audience's gaze shifted to her, then back to Garik. Some made the connection, but most did not. They were still very young, after all. "Did she do it?" an anonymous voice asked.

Garik smiled secretly, giving the impression that he was saying, "Just _wait_." Jaina knew that look all too well. "There was only one problem: Jala's friend…Ktyr…told her that the only way she could bring Sealer out was if she made him hurt so bad that his grief took over. In other words, Jala would have to die."

Dead silence. Every child, even Aarie, was watching with eyes so wide that entire moons could have been put inside them.

Jaina's expression faltered. Not a single person in the safe house could fully comprehend the prophecy Kyp had made. Not one.

"Jala was upset, and she almost gave up completely. But then she started to notice that Orif was much nicer than before. He helped her, and wasn't killing as much. This rekindled the hope and love Jala had held onto, and she decided that she would do anything to have Sealer back – not because she needed him, but because Sealer deserved it."

The Jedi Knight breathed deeply and bit her lip. She had not expected Garik to grasp that much. That he understood bolstered her more than she could have imagined. _Exactly!_ she wanted to shout. _Thank you, thank you, _thank you_ for understanding!_

"Her chance came when people from Jala's old government staged an attack on Nyx's palace. Orif sent Jala to a safe place, but when the attack was over, Nyx sent his guards after her. He realized that Jala might be able to free Sealer, so Nyx was going to execute her first."

Jaina wouldn't have believed it if she hadn't seen it for herself, but the younglings' eyes grew even more. A smile began to touch her eyes.

Garik's eyes glowed as his enthusiasm for the story grew. "When Orif-Sealer found out what was going to happen, he raced into the throne room, throwing the doors apart and telling Nyx that he was a dead man if he hurt Jala. Nyx looked at him…and then threw Jala against the wall. 'Do your worst,' the evil man sneered.

"Orif and Nyx fought on and on, but neither could win, because Orif was trying to keep Sealer's goodness from coming up, and so he hadn't the strength to gain the upper hand. Then, Jala did it." Garik paused dramatically. "Jala saw Nyx raise his sword to cut Orif down, and she pushed Orif out of the way…only to be killed herself."

_Not exactly smoothing over the edges there, Rik_, Jaina thought dryly.

"Sealer was devastated. His grief, just as Ktyr had predicted, overwhelmed Orif, destroying the magic that imprisoned Sealer. Sealer's mourning turned to rage, and he struck Nyx down, ending the evil regime. But Jala was still dead, and nothing could temper that loss.

"When Nyx was dead, Jala's parents – the king and queen of the land – regained their thrones. As for Sealer, he ran away, trying to escape his pain and guilt. On his journey, he met many magicians, holy men and healers, but none could ease his grief. Until…"

Jaina snickered. The younglings were liable to fall over in anticipation, if Garik didn't just spit it out soon.

Garik threw her a glare. "…Until Sealer met a young woman named Zara. When Sealer told her of his woe, she said that there was only one way to stop the grief completely: by bringing Jala back. 'True love,' she told him, 'is very potent in a magic prince such as yourself. Use what Nyx taught you, but make Jala your focus.'

"Sealer immediately thanked her, and he almost flew back to Jala's home. All the way there, he concentrated as he never had before. By the time he reached the palace, he was exhausted, but he knew Jala would be there when he arrived.

"Only, she wasn't." The children, whose eyes had brightened with hope, sighed in disappointment. Just because they were in a war didn't mean that _stories_ could end sadly, "realistically"…did it?

"Sealer searched everywhere, but he could not find her. Finally, he ended up in the park, where he had first met Jala. He was tired, and he cried himself to sleep. In his dream, he saw Jala again, and he told her how much he missed and loved her. Jala smiled and hugged him, then said, 'I'm right here; how can you miss me? Open your eyes, Sealer.'

"When Sealer woke up, he opened one eye, very slowly. Then, he opened the other, but Jala wasn't there. When he turned around…"

"Jala was there," Jaina finished, taking over the narrative. A dozen eyes swung around to watch her, even as peeps of excitement escaped the children. "'You silly boy,' Jala said. 'You tried too hard. Didn't you know that it was your love, and not your strength, that saved me?'"

A warm smile relaxed Jaina's features as the younglings' cheers broke the silence of the room. "And they lived mostly happily ever after," Jaina finished, but no one heard her wish.

No one, that is, except for one. "Until they died," their voice hissed, creating her own ending for the fairy tale.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Any comments would be appreciated :)

_**.Tjz**_


	35. Ch17: Satix Zapini

**Chapter Seventeen: Satix Zapini**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina only just missed the blaster fire. In fact, Jaina Solo pre-death would never have made it, would never have been able to translate the warning into movement fast enough. It was only with her new strength in the Force, and Sanar's reflexes, that she got out of the way. She wasn't, however, so lucky the second time, and her shoulder burned from the laser.

The eyes of Garik and the Jedi younglings flew up and around, trying to find the sniper, but they found nothing. Assuming it to be safe, Aarie tore the bottom of her shirt off in strips, then ran over to the shot Jedi. "Jaina?" the young woman said, trembling, as she touched the Knight's uninjured shoulder.

Jaina's only response was to push Aarie—_hard_—across the room. "Go further down," she commanded the group, nodding warily toward the stairs. "Don't come up until I call."

"Solo – "

"Just _go_, 'Rik!"

The use of Garik's childhood nickname seemed to make him aware of just how serious she was. Shepherding the children toward the stairwell, Garik looked back only once. "Keep them alive for questioning," he ordered, confident that Jaina would be the victor.

A clipped nod was only her answer, and then Garik disappeared, with the door closing and locking behind him.

Jaina scanned the large room warily, unhooking her lightsaber from her belt. The assassin had come prepared, probably controlling a few Ysalamiri, and Jaina couldn't sense the other being. Fortunately, there was more than one way to scalp a Sith.

"Well, do you at least have enough honour to show your face?"

Mocking laughter sounded – right behind the far pillar. Jaina drew her own blaster, shooting several times, but knew that the assassin would have already found a new place to hide. "Of course," she said conversationally, "I suppose you're too ugly to want to give me reason to laugh. Although, if you think about it, I might laugh so hard I get distracted, and then you could kill me. Laughing myself to death. Hah!"

A flicker of something behind her appeared on Jaina's radar, but this time she kept her peace, hoping to lull the assassin into a sense of security. Unfortunately, the sniper instead chose to give their position away by firing once more. Again, Jaina leapt out of the way, but her body hadn't been the sniper's target, and Jaina's lightsaber skittered across the floor, smoking and undoubtedly ruined.

"Alright, now I'm mad," Jaina grumbled. "I've had that since I was fourteen, you _puzilts_." She then sighed with a little disappointment; Sanar knew plenty of insults, but Jaina couldn't understand the significance of half of them. _Something to ask her later_, the Jedi decided.

"You're supposed to be dead," a genderless voice suddenly began.

"Yeah, well, I'm not, okay? In a bit, you might not be able to say the same."

"Tell you what," the voice said, sounding a little amused, "if you put the blaster down, I'll make it easy on you."

"I'd love to, really, but I've already penciled you in for interrogation later on today. And since I need to be around for that…" Jaina shrugged.

Her eyes imperceptibly darted about the room as she reached out in the Force, trying to discover the origin of the Force void Ysalamiri created. _Right there._ By the staircase.

"You won't win, Jedi."

Jaina rolled her eyes. "History begs to disagree. Now come on out and make this a clean fight. I have more important things to do than look out for blaster fire. Painting my nails sounds good. So does checking to see if my hair has split ends."

She felt like showing off, so she gathered the Force and leapt all the way across the room, stopping right in front of the assassin. "Maybe you need therapy?" Jaina wondered out loud. "To help you realize the psychological reasons for your shyness, I mean. Well, then, let's start slowly: my name's Jaina; what's yours?"

Out of the shadows, a brown-eyed, dark-haired woman stalked out, wearing Jedi robes and grease on her cheek. "Jaina Solo," the assassin smirked.

The real Jaina groaned. _A changeling. Oh, this is just perfect_. "There's no one here to fool; quit playing games."

"Why? I'm a much better Jaina Solo than you." The changeling rambled around, twirling her blaster, then picked up Jaina's wrecked lightsaber. "You look like a scruffy, dirty, tired pilot left behind with the children. I, on the other hand…" She gestured to her robes. "_I_ am the combination of excellent Jedi, smuggler and royal heritage. Not to mention, I'm still on my first life."

The resurrected woman's lips tightened. _She probably doesn't have two extra people in her head, either_. "Don't you think this is a little childish?" she retorted.

"Most of my jobs usually are," the changeling agreed, putting something cold and very un-Jaina (and un-Sanar and un-Zekk) in Jaina's usually fiery eyes. "What would happen, I wonder, if I called those children and that man up?"

"You'd die is what would happen."

A cold sliver of a smile. "Anyone special down there? Onyx, perhaps? Did you send the group to be protected by your lover?"

Real-Jaina's spine stiffened. Was this about Zekk? "Sorry, he jumped ship a month or two ago."

"Too bad. It would have been easier on you."

Now what the kriff did _that_ mean? "I don't need anyone to fight for me," she growled, then moved to kick the other in the face.

The changeling ducked, but the kick glanced off her head, and Jaina's features rippled, showing too-sharp cheek bones, and brownish skin. Spitting an insult, the changeling stood, once more in Jaina's form. "We'll see, Princess."

Jaina rolled out of the way when the assassin shot a warning laser blast. "Wouldn't want the bounty to be harmed," Jaina thought she heard the other mutter.

There was a bounty on her head? Already? Jaina would have dismissed it, but she couldn't escape the feeling that it wasn't because of Brakiss that she was being hunted. Tiring of the questions and the fight, Jaina leapt to her feet. Sending her hand to fly out, Jaina knocked the blaster from her look-alike's hands, then followed it up with a roundhouse kick. The changeling went down – this time, in her real form.

Very deliberately, the Jedi placed her heel over the changeling's throat. "Don't move," she hissed.

More sluggishly than before, the changeling shimmered, and Zekk was suddenly under Jaina's foot. "Jaina? Just let me up, already."

Jaina flinched, but the briefest touch of Zekk's mind, far away though it was, reassured her. "That won't work on the interrogators," she taunted grimly, then reached down and decked the changeling without an iota of guilt.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Mother Regent Ta'a Chume finished her report, then looked up, her smile as cold as it was false. "You may enter."

Tenel Ka's boot heels clipped the floor in her determination. She had just come from the med-ward, and her temper was only mounting. "How long will you make the Hapan people suffer for your pride?" she hissed, her grey eyes already flashing.

"We won the battle," Ta'a Chume replied, her eyes staying on those of her granddaughter.

"At what cost?" Tenel Ka took a deep breath, but her left eye still twitched in her anger. "Have you been to see your soldiers yet?"

"Of course. They are brave women…and men."

One of Tenel Ka's hands came up to rest on her hip, while the other curled in a fist. Her grandmother had seen the healthy fighters; she had encouraged those left behind. Ta'a Chume had never spared a glance for the dying, the injured, from whom Tenel Ka had just returned. "You must accept the Rebellion's offers of help."

"There is no need."

"There is _every_ need!" Tenel Ka spat in return. "How can you be so blind to your people's suffering? How can you be so cold toward it?"

Ta'a Chume stood in anger, her eyes blazing. "I have imprisoned others for less than your traitorous words," she warned.

Tenel Ka's chin raised proudly. "You are only Mother Regent," she replied softly, but with no less reprimand in her voice.

"Indeed." Ta'a Chume's lips curled in a smile. "But _I_ am Hapes' best chance. Even a child such as yourself can see that. And there is nothing you can do to change it."

Something shifted in Tenel Ka's stance. "We shall see." Turning on her heel, the reluctant princess left her grandmother to her musing calculation.

Some might say that that was the turning point of Hapes' destiny, though it was some time before things truly began to change.

Already, Tenel Ka was proving her true majesty.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina had never known anyone who wouldn't crack under Kip's dreadful stare, but the changeling was holding up surprisingly well: she had only fainted twice, and her tears were still hidden. Someone had searched the assassin's profile, and put a name to the ever-changing face: Satix Zapini. She wasn't recognizable, by necessity, but rumours had spread of the changeling who never missed their mark.

_Guess she'll need to change her profile_, Jaina thought with a grim smirk.

Through the viewing glass, Kip looked fit to burst that Satix wouldn't give up the name of her employer. The clone was avoided like a plague, but there were a few things that he was undeniably good at, and one of those things was interrogation. If he failed this time…well, he was _Kyp Durron_'s clone.

"How much longer, do you think?" Jaina asked, bumping Garik's shoulder with her own.

He rolled his grey eyes. "Satix will be dead within fifteen minutes. She hasn't got a chance."

The Jedi's eyes sidled over to regard him mischievously. "Wanna bet?"

"What would be your guess?"

"Kip figures something out. Satix lasts ten minutes before being…convinced of her wrong-doing. Why kill her when she was paid to do this? Anyway, we don't have the blaster fire to spare. I'd put fifty credits on it."

Garik studied Kip's furious countenance, then glanced back at Jaina and nodded. "It's a deal."

Five minutes later, Kip stormed out of the interrogation cell. "She won't say a word. Frelling…assassin! Of all the times for one of her kind to gain enough honour to take the fall…"

"So, nothing?"

Kip's green eyes met Jaina's in disgust. "Nothing whatsoever. She's working for someone, but that's all she'll say." He paced for a moment, curses still flying in his eyes, then stopped to measure Satix through the viewing glass. "I have a theory though."

Smug, Jaina raised an eyebrow at Garik. "Don't you always?"

Realizing something was up, Kip's eyes darted from Jaina to Garik, trying to decipher the joke, and if he was the butt of it. "Dare I take that as a compliment?"

"Sorry." Jaina flushed. "I was being serious."

Garik snickered at the idea.

Kip paused, then gave up. "If this was the old, straight Empire, I would believe this was merely another attempt in a long line to get rid of the Solo line. However, we are dealing with the Sith, whom sometimes look a little deeper into eliminating a threat."

At her side, Jaina felt Garik stir. "For those of us who weren't created with extra intelligence, would you please explain?"

A wince passed over Kip's face, but he continued anyway. "Zekk attempted to kill Brakiss; I doubt the Emperor would let that go unpunished. Besides which, think of all the top-secret information Zekk can let loose on the galaxy. Unfortunately, Zekk has…" Kip's eyes raised to the ceiling, "disappeared for places unknown."

_Not entirely unknown_, Jaina corrected, remembering her most recent conversation with Zekk, but she kept quiet. Bond-talking to the degree she and Zekk experienced could freak people out, and she was doing that quite well on her own.

"Do you mean to say that…" Garik trailed off.

"I believe capturing Jaina is a…means of catching Zekk."

The named Jedi's eyes flew up, indignant. "They want to use me as _bait_?"

Kyp would have snapped back at her sarcastically; Kip shifted uncomfortably. "It is quite possible."

Jaina's jaw clenched. "What are you going to do with Satix?" she managed to ask.

Kip shrugged. "She is working for someone else, but she is only freelance. I will have a few – we shall call them conversations – with her, and then let her go."

Although the fun had been sucked out of the bet, Jaina elbowed Garik. "Told you."

Garik only smiled. "Fifteen minutes have not yet passed."

Confused, Jaina stared at him, then turned back to Kip. "Are you sure? About using me as bait, I mean."

"Well…not one hundred percent so, but it would explain things quite well."

"Did you use the Force on Satix at all?"

"She proved quite resistant; it was due to more than just Ysalamiri that you could not sense her earlier."

That Kip hadn't been able to push past Satix's shields meant very little. The Imperials, when they had made Kip, had been unable to fully recreate Kyp's strength in the Force. Jaina spared Kip's ego that reminder, however, saying instead, "Can I talk to her?"

Garik responded before Kip did. "Your attempts in the safe house were hardly successful."

"If you wish," Kip agreed, overruling Garik. "I must warn you, though: it is unlikely to do much good. Satix has already built her shields against you."

Jaina's features were carved from stone. "She hasn't seen anything yet." Trusting Kip to signal the OK to the guards, Jaina burst through the door, letting it slam shut behind her. "Satix Zapini?" she said. "We need to have a little chat, you and I."

The changeling looked up, sweat making her face sheen in the light. "I'm not saying anything; don't waste your time." Just to spite the Jedi, Satix's face rippled into that of Jaina. She let it go almost immediately, and it drained her depleted energy, but it was worth it to see Jaina cringe.

It was Jaina who slapped the bounty hunter/assassin, but neither Sanar nor Zekk protested. "Do you mean to say you're willing to die for your temporary boss?" Jaina snarled, putting one hand on each side of Satix, getting right in her face. Her words were slathered in the Force.

Satix's eyes glazed, but she held on remarkably well. "Traitors must be dealt with," she stated in a monotone.

Jaina was beginning to wonder if a Dark Jedi had played with Satix's head, making it impossible for her to betray them. "If you're talking about me, a moisture farmer's daughter by the name of 'Jana Salo' swore fealty to the Empire, not I."

Interest brightened Satix's eyes as she absorbed what Jaina had said. "It should be easy for the Empire to use and discard you, then."

Jaina's hands dropped to her side in fists, and she took half a step back. "Don't worry: it won't be."

"You'd feel better if it was; if you live, you will only survive to hear your lover tortured…and silenced – but only after a very long time. And, somehow, I don't think _he_ has a second life waiting for him."

In one smooth, furious movement, Jaina drew her blaster and shot Satix twice, right through her mocking, disgusting, lying mouth. Immediately, the changeling slumped in death.

Garik, who had been waiting behind, reached out and gently lowered Jaina's arm. She started, but her glare remained on Satix's bony face.

"Fourteen minutes and thirty-seven seconds."

This time, Jaina _did_ look up. "What?"

"She didn't last the extra fifteen minutes." Garik shrugged and smiled, diffusing the tension that had created a stale atmosphere in the cell. "You owe me fifty credits."

Jaina put her blaster away and felt her pockets for loose credits, grimacing. "How 'bout if I pay for lunch instead?"

"I'm picking the restaurant."

"Fine, but nothing with bones." With a last shudder in Satix's direction, Jaina followed Garik out of the cell.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Any comments would be appreciated :)

.Tjz


	36. Ch18: Away From Me

**Chapter Eighteen: Away From Me**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_I hold my breath as this life starts to take its toll  
I hide behind a smile as this perfect plan unfolds  
But oh, God, I feel I've been lied to  
Lost all faith in the things that I have achieved  
I've woken now to find myself  
In the shadows of all I have created  
I'm longing to be lost in you  
(Away from this place I've made)  
Won't you take me away from me  
Crawling through this world as disease flows through my veins  
I look into myself, but my own heart has been changed  
I can't go on like this  
I loathe all I've become  
Lost in a dying world I reach for something more  
I have grown so weary of this lie I live…_

- "Away From Me" by Evanescence

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

He slipped in for a moment, checking to make sure she was asleep. Seeing her toss and twist in her blankets, he smirked. She knew something was wrong, but she wouldn't realize what was happening in time to stop it. At best, she would feel it as she closed her eyes for the final time, monsters clawing for her attention, paranoid delusions draining her energy even more than the sickness did.

Jaunty with his coming triumph, he flipped a switch, then exited, tugging his jacket up in an attempt to warm himself. As he did so, his collar slipped for a moment, and a blue tattoo at the base of his neck caught the dim light, making it gleam.

Behind him, there was a hiss of air being released, and the poisonous fumes rose to Sanar's face, an invisible pillow smothering her with her own ignorance.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_The rocks were hard under her feet; the wind buffeted her from every side. Sleet poured from the sky, lightning crackled, and Sanar knew where she was: Na'Lein'yhpaon – and not at just any time. She was on her home planet during one of her storms, after which her father had named her: Sanar, Storm Fighter._

_Raising a hand to shield her eyes, she searched the horizon and then… A smile broke over her face. There it was! Home. Picking up her skirts, she raced across the land, unmindful of the storm and the sharpness under her feet. This was her land; this was her place, no matter what they…_

_She frowned, suddenly confused, but then shrugged it off. Well, whoever _they_ were, they could never take her home from her. The wind pushed her every which way, but Sanar revelled in it. The rain whipped her cheeks, and she grinned the harder. Home! Home!_

_When she approached her family's small hut, she slowed, absorbing the weather before she swept her wet hair out of her face. Glancing down at herself, she realized that she was young again, and a yell of triumph escaped her. Already she could feel the memories disappearing…fading into the distance._

Yes! Fade away! Leave me be!

"_Daddy? Mama? I'm home!" she called, and realized she was holding a basket of now drenched flowers. They, like her white dress, were ruined, but Mama wouldn't mind. And if she did, then Daddy would calm her. He placed no care in material objects; he would only look at Sanar's happy face…and understand._

_No one answered, and Sanar stepped into the house, regretfully leaving the fierce storm. "Daddy?" she repeated, looking around._

_Devnos was in the corner; seeing her, he snapped his book closed and hurried forward. "Sanar," he whispered urgently, "you have to be quiet. Just…don't speak. Please…"_

_There was a thump in the other room, and Devnos' eyes widened. Before Sanar could investigate, he tucked his book into his shirt, and took her elbow, leading her into the corner in which he had been hiding. "Sanar, promise me you'll be quiet."_

"_What's going on?" she demanded angrily._

"_Something bad. Something… Can't you feel it, Brownie?"_

_Trouble. Trouble was coming: that was what the pit in her stomach meant. Now dumbstruck, Sanar let herself be led to the side, where Devnos placed a blanket around her shoulders. With a rare show of affection, he squeezed her shoulders. "Do you want something to drink?" he asked – whispering._

_Sanar nodded, and he left. He didn't return._

_She waited for him as long as she could, but finally gave up and headed toward the other room. "Devnos?"_

_No answer. It was a most peculiar day._

_The sight her eyes met when she pushed the door open made her scream. And scream._

_She stopped being a little girl; she was a teenager again, and Horaire was waiting for her there, glowering, striding toward her, his soulless eyes as black holes in his face._

_Turning on her heel, she ran, tripping over the side of the door, then the awkward floor planks. Still she kept running. Sprinting. She couldn't be caught. The storm had given way to the hard, too-bright sun, and Devnos' blanket disappeared. The sun beat down on her, taking away all the water she had absorbed before. She was no storm fighter; she was only a girl. Running. Trying to escape._

_Horaire grabbed her shoulder, and, sobbing, she pushed him away. Her dress ripped down the back, but she didn't dare stop. Ducking out of the city square she had found herself in, she tried to stay to the alleys, tried to avoid the glaring sun. She would find no refuge in numbers…unless death was now her salvation._

"_Niftyax!" Horaire screamed behind her. "You cannot escape me! You are mine!"_

_She couldn't see past the tears, and she stumbled through the streets, no longer caring if they stopped her, beat her, killed her. She wouldn't let him catch her again._

_Then he was in front of her, and Sanar fell back in terror. Clayra was in his arms, and Horaire's dagger was at Clayra's throat. "You…or your sister?" he mocked. "The fire…or the frail?"_

_Unseen hands almost threw her into standing position, and Sanar raced forward, tearing Clayra from Horaire's arms. "You won't have her!" she screamed, again and again._

_Horaire was gone; in his place was Caesarea. "Failure," her weak mother croaked. "Disgrace."_

_In an embrace tight enough to hurt the younger girl, Sanar held Clayra. Then new arms – Devnos' arms – took the blond teen. "Run, Sanar. Don't let them catch you." Clayra pushed her forward, and Sanar stumbled forth again._

_Through the city; past the priests' quarters; beyond the river, then…_

_They were chasing her again – someone whom Sanar didn't even want to look at. She didn't check over her shoulder; the terror was sufficient to keep her going._

_They_ could not_ catch her. It would be the end of everything._

_She ran until she came to the end: the end of her strength, the end of the land on which she could run. The cliff before her taunted her, the earth stretching out for miles…below her. The only way she could escape was to fly, but Sanar's wings had been burned long, long ago._

_Then he was there. "Sanar."_

_Almost unconsciously, her arms stretched out to him, a smile beginning to soften her features. "Catch me," she whispered, and knew he would._

_She leapt…_

_His presence wrapped around her; she was safe. His arms embraced her; she was loved._

_They were flying – above the ones who would hurt them, above those who would kill him, destroy her. Her laughter started slowly, then grew with her joy, with her completeness._

"_Fly with me," he whispered in her ear._

_She would do anything for him._

_She flew._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar never wanted to wake, and she desperately grasped at the dream. She would relive the nightmare again, a thousand times, if only she could be with her love again…

But she woke. His name was on her lips. Sanar tried to understand her cry, but couldn't. She never could; it was futile to try.

Why could she never remember his name, his face?

Only his voice, his love, remained with her.

_When will you come for me?_

If it wasn't soon, Sanar would be lost. No one was meant to be deficient forever. Life withered in incompleteness.

But he had promised! He would always catch her. She only had to believe.

Wrapping her arms around herself, she closed her eyes and tried to recapture his essence.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

They snuck up on him, like they always did; by now, the visions knew he would never consciously accept them.

**Burning, cutting, dying, living, freeing –**

_No._ Devnos ground his teeth and squeezed his head with his fists, trying to evade the images. He didn't want to see them; Sanar was the seer, not he. She should be the one seeing these; he wasn't built to remember – understand – accept all the things beyond.

_Sanar is too close._

If he had had it, Devnos would have waved the papers, the manuscript, in the air as proof. _I did my part! It's all recorded. You have to leave me alone now! You_ have _to!_

Sanar was the "different" one. The one the Force trusted. The one the Strings loved.

Devnos mistrusted the Force as much as it was suspicious of him. His gifts were practical, despite his youth's artistry.

_Would you rather…?_

**Spilled blood, sticky hair, screamed agony, failure**.

_No! No! Stop before **IT** overhears you!_

_She must be warned._

_I did my best; there is no more I can do. LEAVE ME ALONE!_

Silence. Perhaps the visions were only regaining their strength for a renewed assault, but Devnos threw himself into his work. He refused to see more. He didn't want to _know_. He would crack, if he did.

**IT** would know.

Onyx. The search for Onyx. What a perfect distraction.

Devnos threw himself into his work, into the Darkness.

It would protect him. He needn't worry about prophecies or death, when in the Darkness. There was only his power. He was in control. He was a desperate man, but the Darkness cradled him. It would give him what he wanted – needed. Maybe he could avoid the prophecy. Maybe.

Yes! Perhaps he could even fulfill it himself, then gain the power. Devnos would avoid the visions altogether, then reap the benefits.

Even as he fantasized, he knew it was all a lie.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Any comments would be appreciated :)

.Tjz


	37. Ch19: Lord Onyx

_(Some dialogue and exerts from the following dream were taken from pages 169 – 173 of "Young Jedi Knights: Lightsabers" by Rebecca Moesta and Kevin J. Anderson.)  
_

* * *

**Chapter Nineteen: Lord Onyx**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_After so many victories, I knew every contour of my lightsaber. Although I was well aware that real battles – with real beings, rather than holo-simulations – were much more difficult, I was high on triumph. I had even felled a ferocious rancor. What I would have given to see Vilas' face when I struck down the beast with which he was so enamoured…!_

_And so I strode beside Master Brakiss, confident in my ability, in my place. I had never felt like this before – proud, strong, powerful – and my head was high. Master Brakiss was leading me to the station's central hub, somewhere I had never before ventured, but I restrained my curiosity for the moment._

_Instead, I studied my master as surreptitiously as I could. His features were impassive, but just the hint of a frown touched his forehead, and his aura held just a trace of…fear? When I couldn't stand it any longer, I cleared my throat and said, "Master Brakiss, I sense…uneasiness in you. You haven't told me about this next exercise. Is there something I should know?"_

_Brakiss' brisk pace slowed for a moment and his gaze pierced mine. "You are about to face your most difficult trial, Zekk. Everything depends on this. You must demonstrate how talented you truly are."_

_Pride straightened my spine, and I lifted my chin, my hand instinctively dropping to my lightsaber. "I'm ready for anything." I would not disappoint my master, who had believed in me from the very beginning. No one else had done that – not even…_

_I rebuked myself firmly. Jaina didn't belong in my thoughts now. It was regrettable that she had not joined the Second Imperium, and I was hurt that she had not told me about my potential, true. But what if she_ had _told me? Then I would never have met Brakiss. He would never have shown me my true power. Instead, I would have been taught to hide behind the weakness of Luke Skywalker's Jedi._

_I was strong. I would live up to Brakiss' faith in me. I would prove myself to them all. They would never be able to look down on me again, dismissing me as a mere street rat._

_When we reached a metal door, Brakiss punched in a code, making the hatch open slowly. When I peered in, my eyes found a small airlock chamber and a second, sealed door blocking the other side._

"_Trust in your abilities, Zekk. Feel the Force."_

_Although increasingly confused, I nodded proudly. "As always, Master Brakiss. I will pass your test. But…" I hesitated, and then pushed on, "Why is this so important? Why should you be so concerned?"_

_Brakiss gestured me into the chamber. Just a little uncertain, I entered and waited, but my master remained outside. "Because it will be a fight to the death," he said, then slammed the door shut._

To the death.

To the death…

_I waited, nervous but prepared, and then finally the second door opened and I stepped into…nothingness. The chamber on the other side had no gravity. The surprise and lack of preparation sent me reeling into the air, twisting and bouncing off things as I adjusted to the atmosphere._

_Brakiss was introducing the event, and I made out his proclamation that whoever won this would be the first general of the Shadow Academy forces. Then Vilas – my rival – was there, smirking, mocking. "If you surrender now, young trash collector, I may only cripple you."_

_It was all I needed to hear; my pride more than just stung, I began my fight. Hurling rocks was a waste of energy, as I realized after my first attempt, and Vilas' mockery rang in my ears._

_I would not fail._

_The fight was the most important in my life, and I used my anger to propel myself forward, even after my embarrassing mistakes._

_I would be the Darkest Knight; I would lead my Jedi into battle. I_ would_. It was my turn to prove myself._

_And then it was over – so quick that the horror took whole seconds to sink in. It hadn't been a simulation. Vilas was dead; I had murdered him. The cheers of my fellow Jedi mocked me._

What have I done?

_This wasn't how I wanted to prove myself. Vilas' head bounced back off the wall, his eyes wide with shock, and then they changed from black…to light brown, until Jaina was looking back at me._

What have I done?

"_You have won this battle," Emperor Palpatine boomed, startling me. "You are my Darkest Knight, Zekk. I have chosen you to personally lead my Jedi into battle against Skywalker's Jedi Academy." Emperor Palpatine smiled grimly as he congratulated me, and I felt my pride begin to return, but – still – the disgust…the horror._

_Who was I to cut down another being?_

_The years passed, and more died at my hands. I fought Anakin, paid assassins to rid me of political threats, until blood covered my hands._

_And then the dead's sticky, thick blood began to rise. First to my knees, then to my belt, then up to my chest, and up…up until I was drowning, trying to stay above it, but too guilty to be clear-headed, and – _

"Wake _up_!"

Jaina's eyes snapped open to look right into Aarylia's frightened visage. Before she could regain control from the horror of her/Zekk's nightmare, she shot up, whacking foreheads with her once-apprentice. Both cried out in pain and shrank away from the other.

"Sorry, Aarie," Jaina said weakly, clutching her head.

The young girl rubbed her forehead, still looking sleepy. "It's…okay. Are you alright?"

Would she tell a fragile, scared twelve-year-old if she wasn't? Jaina smiled and ruffled Aarylia's red hair. "I'm fine. It was just a nightmare." Only, it wasn't. But Jaina was getting better at dealing.

Aarylia shuddered as her own, cerulean eyes became dark. "I hate nightmares. Why can't brains just turn off when you're sleeping?"

Jaina slipped an arm around the girl's shoulders, her own pain retreating to the back of her mind. "Dreams help us see into our own hearts and minds. The only way we could escape them is if we were dead. And…it is good to be alive. Very good," Jaina finished quietly.

Aarylia only snuggled deeper into her former master's side. Slowly, her eyes closed and her breathing deepened. When she was sure the girl wouldn't wake, Jaina tucked the apprentice in on the couch and sat back, content to watch her.

Tiran had not wanted his apprentice to go with Jaina, but Aarylia had grabbed hold of Jaina and refused to let go. He had given up and didn't argue when Jaina invited Aarylia to stay in the Solo quarters. "Deal with her nightmares," he had said as he shoved Aarylia's bag of belongings into Jaina's hands. "You caused them, after all."

After yesterday's attack, Jaina was beginning to wonder if the girl wouldn't be safer with Tiran. Besides which, she couldn't escape the feeling that Aarylia was meant to move on, away from Jaina's path—whatever that was.

"It never gets easier," Leia said, startling her daughter.

Jaina didn't look up. She still wasn't sure how to react to her mother, who refused to see Zekk's goodness. On the one hand, she could understand it. Hadn't Jaina, herself, given up hope? Jaina had been there—had _watched_—as her brothers died. Leia had barely known Zekk.

But…

Zekk wasn't Onyx. It was as clear to Jaina as anything ever had been. Leia should trust her.

"What doesn't?"

Leia turned the lights up a bit more. "Seeing them go down a different route. Aarie isn't your child, but she was once your responsibility. Your death split the path you set up with her."

It sounded, Jaina thought, as if Leia was sincerely trying to be understanding, and her heart softened. "I don't suppose this is your roundabout way of telling me that you have accepted my path?"

Leia hesitated, stiffened, and bent down so she was eye-level with her daughter. "Not all elements of it, Jaina."

_Too bad_, Jaina thought harshly. _Because my path_ is _me_.

Her mother continued. "There are some things that—that can never be forgiven, and certainly never forgotten. But…I _am_ trying."

Jaina's sleep shirt had begun to slip off her shoulder, and she pushed it back up, resigned. Leia's offer would have to do—for now. Jaina nodded slowly, and grinned. "It's the extra hormones, isn't it?"

Leia returned her smile. "Probably."

Detecting the worry in her mother's eyes, Jaina impulsively reached out and placed her hand on Leia's protruding stomach. So much life within… Her brother or sister. Was she ready for another sibling?

She would have to be.

"It will be alright, Mom," she said gently. "The baby has a lot of pressure to be a boy, but the birth will be fine."

Before Leia could voice her surprise, Jaina rose and headed for the kitchen, her bare feet padding on the bare floor.

Zekk needed her.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Ready?"

Zekk shifted, wanting to rip the leather armour off and run away from it, as if it was a dangerous beast. The clothes were uncomfortably comfortable, a blatant reminder of his own Darkness. Already he felt like Onyx again, and he hadn't even begun to play out the deception. "Ready as I'll ever be," he replied.

Krista looked up at him, a little worried, then reassured herself that her black wig was on right. "Let's go."

With trepidation, Zekk cuffed the girl, making certain that they were loose enough for escape. Pressing a firm hand against her back, he pushed Krista along the corridor to the prison's inner holding cells. At the sight of the white, crisp decorations, Onyx's hard, arrogant expression overtook Zekk's face. Knowing he wouldn't last long in the Imperial prison if he didn't, Zekk blanketed his memories of Jaina, leaving only the ghost of her face to anchor him.

Zekk didn't want Onyx to touch Jaina.

He let the metal door clank shut behind him before he spoke to the wing's supervising guards. "I assume the captive's cell is ready?" he demanded, his voice implying that it was the very _least_ they could do.

The first one, with a husky frame and just enough confidence to keep his fear from his eyes, stood and nodded. "Of course, Lord Onyx. Follow us, please."

Onyx's piercing green eyes narrowed at the younger guard in disdain, then he followed the senior supervisor, his boot heels clipping the tense silence. Krista stumbled and scowled appropriately, sullen, making things as difficult as she could with the bruises she had painted onto her skin. As they walked, prisoners glowered at Onyx, and some, recognizing Krista, cried out angrily.

Zekk shuddered – a movement that always had been, and always would be, hidden by the padding of Onyx's suit. When would it be time? Zekk wasn't sure if he could stand much more of his alter ego.

As if she sensed his distress, Jaina briefly rose in his mind, loving. A moment later, Krista's hands were free, swinging back to receive the blasters Zekk offered. "Sorry, lads," she said cheerfully, shooting both of the guards. "Stars! I'd forgotten how easy it is with an inside source…"

Zekk grabbed the senior guard's ID card and ran back to the main computer. Quickly typing in the man's number, Zekk invaded the guard's profile. When he tapped in Onyx's master code, the cells' access number appeared. Grinning with pride (it had always been his problem), Zekk ran back to Krista. "590-9VS-L87," he recited rapidly.

Krista acknowledged his discovery with a vigorous nod, her wig bobbing. "Thanks, hot stuff," she bubbled, winking and grinning when Zekk blushed.

The prisoners quieted, their eyes suddenly widening as they realized that Onyx was an accomplice. However, when Krista keyed access for the individual cells, they pushed the epiphany away to make room for freedom. Most were involved in NR intelligence, or had led their planets against the Empire; they were not meant to be in incarceration.

_But_, Zekk calculated, _I daresay they are more willing than ever to give everything to the fight – which is always a good thing_.

Krista took aside two of her more anonymous operatives, prepping them to take hold of the prison ward until the NR could supply replacements. In the Empire, where camaraderie was discouraged during work hours, and prisons were isolated, the operatives should have a smooth two weeks.

Leaving her chosen two to change into the guards' apparel, Krista led the rest out of the base. Three more guards were replaced on the Rebels' way out.

When they were back on their transport, Zekk quickly changed back into his normal clothes, throwing Onyx's hateful, black garments across the room before sinking into a large chair.

"You know, if you keep frowning like that you'll make moldy-oldies look sexy, but I don't think Jaina would be pleased."

Zekk spun around to see Krista leaning in the doorway, chewing a piece of gum. "I activated the lock."

She shrugged. "So? I have three older brothers: I picked the two-credit piece of junk." The young woman had removed her wig, but her pale hair was still arranged, haphazardly with pins, to hide it under the fake locks. "If you keep doing this, you know, the NR will probably pardon you. We're going to win this war; now isn't the time to worry about betrayal."

"I want to help," he replied, realizing she thought he was upset for different reasons than his own. "I just…I turned my back on Onyx once, and only after Jaina…died. It took _that much_ to bring me back to reality – and it's not a price I can pay again."

Krista's face was impassive. "If you can't do this, you better tell me right now."

He forced a vaguely reassuring smile. "I just need a little time to catch my bearings."

Slowly, she nodded. "Alright – if you're sure… But you're under orders to call Jaina every night, got it?"

He started to tell her that he only had to reach out to Jaina in the Force, but then stopped. "Are you giving orders as an Intel leader or as a romantic?"

"I'm not taking a loose canon into the field; if Jaina brought you back before, I trust her to _keep_ you back," Krista said, but then smiled lightly. "Besides, Jaina waited for you for five years. The least you can do is lavish her with attention until she's blue in the face."

"Did you think I wouldn't?" he retorted, offended.

"You're a _guy_," Krista rejoined, as if that explained everything. "And, obviously, the two human genders are wired differently. For example…"

"Krista, I don't need this lecture. I'm _quite_ aware of the difference, thank you very much."

She grinned and shook some of her hair out of its pins, letting it flutter in her face. "Give me a break – I've had three fathers, and no younger siblings, since I was nine: I have to scold _someone_."

Zekk blinked. "How about if you give me the talk later, then, when I'm not ready to burst."

Krista's smile was bubbly with excitement at the idea of turning the tables. "We hit the food suppliers next," she informed him, then skipped out of the room.

Smiling, Zekk reached out to retrieve the holo-com. Jaina was waiting for his call.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Any comments would be appreciated :)

.Tjz


	38. Ch20: Wait for Me, My Love

**Chapter Twenty: "Wait for Me, My Love"**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"I don't see why Onyx would be _here_ of all places," Sanar grumbled as she followed her brother.

"Ennth is his home planet," Devnos explained impatiently. "And if you're going to make a nuisance of yourself, you can just go back to the ship."

Sulking, the woman nevertheless stayed close. Eating had neither bettered nor worsened her mysterious illness, and Sanar was becoming paranoid of Devnos' luxurious shuttle. When Devnos had said he was going on-planet before turning in for the night, Sanar had declared that she was, too.

After all, maybe she only needed some fresh air. In the past five years, she had breathed more artificial air than could be good for her.

But Sanar couldn't even begin to convince herself that that was all. Even the Strings, which had abandoned her for so long, were trembling.

Devnos had let her come, for reasons Sanar could only begin to guess. Perhaps he was hoping Sanar would help him, despite her constant reassurances that she knew nothing?

"How, exactly, do you plan on finding Onyx? I mean, it's not likely that he'll be jumping around in the main square, wearing a bright pink dress."

"I have contacts here," Devnos muttered absently as they came upon the city gates. "Besides, I don't expect to find Onyx here; I just need to clear up the ambiguity that clouds Onyx's past. So little is known about him before… And it is always in the past that we find the future."

Sanar grinned before she realized what she was doing. Devnos always had been too philosophical for his own good. "Always the melodramatic," she murmured, too low for him to catch her words. The previous night's dream had sucked out a generous amount of her less noble emotions, and she didn't want a fight, but nor did she want her brother to think she had forgiven him.

Right before he disappeared into the bustling crowd, Devnos glared into Sanar's eyes. "Don't even think about trying to escape, or I'll – "

She shoved him away. "I'm not two, you twit; I know the rules. Just get lost, already."

His black eyes stayed on her for a moment, then he swung around into the people. Sanar copied his example – in the other direction, of course. She soon found herself in the downtown area. It was still light out, but the evening was creeping up on the city, and the clubs were beginning to open. All around her were places called "Sala's Hope" or "The New Light". This planet, she thought a little wistfully, was a place of hope. So different from her own home planet.

Perhaps that was why Zekk had been saved, while Sanar had little doubt that she would remain in the gutters forever.

A headache strained her attention, and Sanar sat on a nearby bench, taking the moment to rest away from the calculated, hateful eyes of her brother and his apprentice. Ignoring the feeling that she should leave, Sanar closed her eyes. Was it her, or was her head already clearing? Perhaps it was just need of good air that affected her, after all. Reopening her eyes with a relieved sigh, she stood – and froze.

Sanar couldn't have seen what she thought she saw. It was impossible. He was dead.

If she had been made of ice, she could have moved faster. _Help_, she thought miserably. Her eyes were the only part of her that moved quickly, darting about the square, searching for proof.

There! Oh gods!

Sanar fell back, smacking into the brick wall of an alley beside her previous sitting area. Her earlier nightmare was coming back, and "futile" did not begin to describe the hope that she would be saved this time, in real life.

If Horaire was on Ennth after she had killed him, then it was Judgement. No dream lover could save her.

There! His hideous, bright orange hair: Sanar spotted it near a dance house with glittering lights. His grating laugh carried to her ears. Screams shattered her hearing.

Was she the one screaming? Or was it the old, silent terror that broke only Sanar?

_You thought you could escape me?_

Horaire had really found her. _Oh Larifyx, oh stars, oh Force…_ "I killed you," she insisted, her breath coming in gasps. "You're dead!"

Pain in her side. Sanar's hand went to it instinctively and came up red with blood.

This wouldn't happen if _he_ was here.

//_"Don't do it, Sanar; don't jump. Wait for me. Live. Our paths are joined. Wait for me."_//

She had waited! Where was he?

_Wait for me, love._

It was the first time she had ever heard his voice when she was not dreaming.

_Fight._

Her spine straightened, and fire began to rekindle in her veins. Then – it blazed, and Sanar realized that someone…_Jaina_…was feeding her strength.

The orange hair was coming closer, and Sanar was prepared to fight. She had a destiny to wait for; she wasn't going to let Horaire take that from her. He had taken enough.

_I'll wait._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Devnos had just gotten to the matter of Onyx's orphanage when Sanar's horror kicked his every sense into high gear. Racing off without a thought to do otherwise, Devnos let the Force guide him to the clubbing section of the city.

There: in the alley.

Slowing down, he scanned the area, trying to locate the threat. _Nothing…noth—what?_ Devnos' eyes narrowed at the patch of orange hair approaching Sanar's alley. At first glance, Devnos was struck with the memory of Horaire. After further scrutiny, however, he realized that the colour was garish – fake. A wig, maybe, or a cheap dye job.

But Sanar had suffered enough to be terrified by even the idea of Horaire. It would help or hinder her – Sanar's ability to hate and fight was obsessively well groomed, but she would run out of strength, eventually. Not yet, though. She couldn't. One of the pieces had yet to arrive. She _had_ to know it was only an assassin.

_**Leave her.**_

No! Now wasn't the time!

_**The assassin is one of ours. Leave her. She is nothing to you…or did you lie to us?**_

_I…_ Devnos cursed. How was it that he, the only Klis child who _needed_ to have only one directing force, was pulled in four directions? Fighting for every metre, he launched himself in Sanar's direction.

**IT** retaliated by striking him blind.

With a cry, Devnos tripped, sprawling into a face plant on the dusty ground. Strangers' hands and concerned voices smothered him, and Devnos pushed them away. Sanar, he decided, was far more trouble than she was worth.

Focusing on the Dark side got him back to his feet and walking in Sanar's general direction. But then his anger and selfishness taunted him, distracting him from his goal.

He couldn't use the Dark side to help, this time. The only…the only thing that might help him was…

_Only if you help us._

Devnos couldn't believe it. _You won't let that go even for_ her_? Your_ dearly beloved_ Sanar? So much for being concerned about her!_ An outbreak of mixed emotions – anger, fear, hatred and defiance – from Sanar made Devnos stumble into a stone wall. Static crumpled his mind, chewing, snapping, threatening to make him drop out and forget again, if only he dropped his guard for a moment.

_One look,_ the Strings insisted. _Just one._

_Involving me will only destroy your precious game._

The Strings were quiet, then, _Will you not save Brownie? The Other is not here to do so yet._

Seconds ticked. There was a _thip_ of blaster fire hitting flesh, and Devnos sighed. _Give me my sight, and I will give it back to you – but only for a moment._

A swell of triumph, then his vision returned. His eyes darted to the left, just in time to see the wigged assassin reloading his antique blaster.

"Sanar – duck!"

She hit the ground without hesitation, her remaining scraps of trust making her respond to his warning. Devnos' hand flew to his lightsaber as he jostled through the crowd. The pain lessened for a moment, as if **IT** thought Devnos was going to kill Sanar himself. Instead, just as he was a metre away from Sanar, he twirled his ignited lightsaber…and cut the blaster out of the assassin's hand.

The agony restarted immediately, and Devnos more staggered into than punched Rafintair's hired man. When a dizzy spell sent him hurtling back, as if he had run into an elastic, he heard the sound of someone getting the crap kicked out of them.

It sounded kind of like what was happening in his head.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar only pulled back when not-really-Horaire's face resembled raw meat. And then she screamed at him. "Who the lafit do you think you are, making me think you were…! And then you made my brother…faint…" She punched him again for good measure. "What the _hell_? That was the first time in _years_ that Devnos ever…" _stood up for me_. "And you couldn't let him **finish**?"

Someone dragged her back from behind, and Sanar elbowed them until the hands loosened, freeing her to launch back at the man. His orange wig had fallen off, but Sanar hadn't forgotten her earlier fear. With a fresh burst of anger, she swung her fist into the side of his face, causing him to slump pathetically to the ground.

To punctuate how badly she had clobbered him, the wound in her stomach cramped, making her grimace. Before she could stand and stare at Devnos as if he was from another universe, something on not-Horaire's neck caught her attention. Leaning forward, she jerked his shoulder so that she could get a better look.

When she realized what it was, her venturing fingers shot back as if they had been burned. It was the tattoo of Rafintair's Holy Brothers: ruthless killers who excused their disgusting actions as those the god, Pucijir, desired. This man was missing the image of Pucijir's skapter, so he was only an apprentice, but…

What was a Brother doing here? Why were they… Sanar's eyes reflexively flew to Devnos' still form. Reluctantly, the pieces fell together into a chaotic picture.

Devnos had tried to stop the assassin. The Brother had shot Sanar – unless she had only brought attention to herself with her terror, which wasn't likely. Holy Brothers were fanatics. Nothing distracted them.

_Why would a Brother come after me?_

"You…is he alright?" a man asked, eyeing Sanar cautiously before he looked at Devnos, the fight's only participant that looked even remotely innocent.

Sanar brushed him aside. "We'll be…okay," she said uncertainly, ignoring the stranger's look. He was probably wondering who – the Brother or Sanar – was the wrongdoer. Flipping her hair breathlessly, she gestured to the Holy Brother. "Sorry about the mess. The demon alcohol, you know – drives everyone crazy."

It was still a little too early for drinking, with the drinking spots only just beginning to open. Nevertheless, the stranger stepped away, his suspicion turning to disgust, probably thinking she was a dancer from some dodgy bar.

Devnos groaned as he came to, drawing Sanar's gaze. She thought she heard him mutter, "Who danced in _my_ head?"

She wanted to demand an explanation, but the crowd was shuffling suspiciously, and Sanar wasn't in the mood to clear things up for them. They would forget about it as soon as they got some alcohol in their veins. "Time to go," she told her brother in a sing-song voice. She began to help him stand, but he slapped her hands away and rose on his own.

"I'm not finished here," he growled blearily.

Did he really still care about Onyx's history? Sanar rolled her eyes. "Oh yes you are," she retorted, dragging him away by the elbow.

"No, I'm – "

"Don't be an idiot," she whispered fiercely, so only he could hear. "There is never only one Brother. This crowd isn't ready for a war in their backyard. Just pretend you're drunk; they're used to inebriated fist fights."

He was confused enough to follow without further protest, and the crowd made no move to bar the Klis siblings' way. Sanar's back ached from being so straight, but her fear and confusion wouldn't let her relax until they were almost to the ship, and she could no longer feel the crowd's eyes on her.

Devnos seemed to take his cue from her, because he jerked out of her grip. She put one hand on her uninjured hip, watching him through narrowed eyes. "Devnos. What the lafit is a Holy Brother doing on Ennth?"

He glanced up at her, eyes flashing, but didn't speak.

Sanar wanted to scream. Instead, she pushed him. No longer unsteady on his feet, he didn't move. It did nothing to soothe her temper. "_A Holy Brother_," she stormed. "Devnos, he tried to kill me!" Her hand lightly touched the place where the laser had grazed her stomach. "Why would Rafintair send… I'm _nobody_."

Devnos laughed. It was a harsh, wild sound that burned Sanar's ears. "You'd think so, wouldn't you?" he sneered.

Her heart thudded in its protective cage.

Devnos leaned in close, disdainful black eyes burning her mocha gaze. "It's the way it should be, isn't it?"

She stepped away, trying to adjust to his inexplicable moods. Why, she wondered, was she shaking? "How long have you known?" she asked, thinking back on the Brother.

Again, that laugh. "For far too long."

What Sanar didn't realize was that they were talking about two entirely different things. That had always been their greatest hindrance.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Any comments would be appreciated :)

.Tjz


	39. Ch21: Considerations of the Soul

**Chapter Twenty-One: Considerations of the Soul**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

That Jaina beat Kip was not a surprise to her. Before, they had been evenly matched. Now she had the advantage of possessing two separate, masterful fighting styles, on top of a superior connection to the Force. What bewildered her was that her victory was so quick – so _easy_.

Kip had been created to adapt. Thus far, his only failure to exactly meet his programming was when he, and the other clones, had rebelled against the Empire. That the Empire had chosen to clone Kyp Durron, Jedi rogue, was a mystery to Jaina, though she suspected it had something to do with Miko. The Empire had realized their mistake only too quickly, and killed the clones. Kip, however, had escaped to the government to which his original matter had belonged.

Despite the prejudice against him, Kip had proved himself an invaluable asset to the Rebellion; programmed in the Empire's strategies, he had saved more than one battle. He had also become, just like that, everyone's dirty-job boy. Only Kyp's loyalty and pride, which the Empire had hoped to twist in their favour, remained in Kip, so he could feel no disgust, and he had few moral problems. Younglings were shuttled to safe places; Knights had a sparring partner; the NR Intelligence had an interrogator.

His weaknesses, quite simply, were not in his body or mind, which was why Jaina's rapid triumph was absurd.

"Are you feeling alright?" she asked, although she knew he couldn't get sick.

Kip's face was a little paler than normal. "In mind and body, yes."

It was like him to be that specific, and Jaina almost let it go, but then she reconsidered his choice of words. "What about in spirit?" she tried.

He powered down his grey lightsaber. "I…" He hesitated, then decided to confide in her. "There is something…lacking." Seeing her consternation, he added, "No doubt it is meaningless. I simply do not feel myself."

But Kip _couldn't_ be anyone – or anything – other than himself. Technically, he had no soul, only borrowed DNA and an enhanced mind.

"I do not wish to speak of it," the dark-haired clone finished before Jaina could pursue the subject further.

She frowned but accepted it, being used to people and their secrets. "Meet you in the lounge in fifteen minutes?" she said, brushing her slightly damp hair out of her face.

Kip smiled in agreement, and Jaina headed for the gym locker room. Showering and changing quickly, she still arrived in the base's lounge five minutes after Kip. The room was mainly empty, and two pilots, who had heard about her death and resurrection, left when they saw Jaina. Garik, sitting on a hover-couch with datapads scattered on the desk before him, smiled encouragingly when he saw her. "They'll get used to it," he reassured her.

She ignored his words, opting instead to turn on the holo-net, flipping through news channels. "I suppose it's too much to ask if we're doing a bit better?"

"Actually," Kip said, "there _have_ been some interesting turns of events." He nodded at the holographic image of a stern, Imperial anchor, and Jaina turned the volume up.

"…Although the Empire re-sent their request for the supplies, sources admit that much was lost, and it will take some time for the military to recover. While the Jedi are unaware of who sabotaged the food line, this station has been assured that the criminals will be caught."

"Huh," Jaina started softly. "Guess Zekk and Krista…"

A pair of hands dropped down on her shoulders. "Do the wiggle, girl!"

Startled, Jaina looked up into Cerasy's face. Fighting to keep a straight face, Jaina replied, "I am _not_ doing that…dance…again."

"Aw, c'mon," Cerasy ribbed, eyes twinkling. "You loved it."

"I was _drunk_." Jaina's eyes closed as her cheeks burned in embarrassment. "Very drunk."

The bounty hunter loosed a hearty laugh. "It really _is_ you, then!" She vaulted over the couch's back and landed next to her friend, slinging an arm around the Jedi's shoulder. "Back from the dead, eh? Couldn't believe it when I heard it. You, missy, have plenty of talking to do, but since half of that is an explanation for how crazy you drove Zekk with love…" Cerasy winked. "We'll save the chat for later."

Jaina's grin became unexpectedly watery. "Thanks."

The other woman smiled understandingly before releasing her red hair from its ponytail. "I just changed it again today. Like it? Will Tir go wild?"

The brown-haired woman shrugged happily, revelling in the normalness of the conversation. "That's part of tonight's chat," she admonished. "You won't see Tiran before then, anyway."

"Oh, I suppose I can wait that long." Cerasy stood, dancing a little to music only she could hear, apparently hyper now that she had been reassured of her friend's continued existence. "Hey, Kip, Garik. Worried anyone with your overuse of logic yet?"

Garik raised an eyebrow over his mug of caf, his eyes light. "Hello, Cerasy. I don't suppose you're finally going for the kill with Tiran?"

Much more serious now that her chase after Tiran had been brought in, Cerasy bit her lip and carefully sat on a chair. "I have to come up with my game plan first. Mostly," she conceded, "I have to figure out how to not argue with him for more than five minutes. But," Cerasy brightened, "what would be the fun in an easy relationship?"

Jaina snorted.

"By the way," Cerasy continued to Jaina, "I had a run in with one of Onyx's dancing girls – she's the one who told me you were still alive. I think she was called…" Cerasy snapped her fingers. "Sanar? Yes, that's it. Should I have chucked her into hyperspace?"

Garik chuckled at Jaina's expression. Cerasy had no idea. "If you had," Jaina retorted heatedly, "I would have thrown you out after her!"

Cerasy looked at Garik quizzically.

"Sanar Klis was the one to bring Solo back to life," he explained, "through quite extreme measures. I'm afraid that if you had hurt her, you would have had an angry sister on your hands."

"Interesting," Cerasy mused, filing the information away. "I offered to help her escape, but – "

"She's still with Devnos?" Jaina demanded, her gaze becoming sombre.

The other woman nodded thoughtfully. "In return for telling me about you, I offered the boon of dropping off somewhere else, but she refused."

Jaina withdrew from them, her forehead creasing. When she spoke again, she appeared uncertain. "She has a part to play, still." Jaina sighed. "I just hope she'll be safe until then."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Something about Sanar's brief exchange with that bounty hunter – Cerasy? – had been picking at Devnos' mind for weeks before he realized what it was.

//_"Jaina changed him."_

"_Is she alive?"_

"_The Emperor saw her as a threat. He captured and wounded Jaina. I've never seen anyone survive that kind of head trauma, no matter how strong or how smart they are."_//

True, he had considered the possibility that Jaina was still alive…but what had Sanar actually _seen_ that day?

A new thought struck him. Had she…helped, somehow? Had she known about Jaina's continued existence, and lied to him? But Devnos was certain that she had been honest when she told him that Onyx was gone.

//_"Jaina changed him."_//

Oh, Larifyx. Had Onyx…turned back? Turned to the Light side?

The pieces falling into place, Devnos stormed to his sister's room. She had been curled up into her blankets with a pillow over her head, but when she heard his entrance, she looked up dazedly. "Devnos?" she muttered.

He threw the covers back, and Sanar wrapped her arms around herself as if she was cold, even though she wore a warm sweater and pants. "I am going to ask this once," he said quietly, "and once only. Do you know where _Zekk_ is?"

Sanar's eyes widened, despite herself.

When she didn't reply, he had his answer. Ice shards clogged his veins. "I see. Did you help?"

She snatched her blankets back, wrapping them around her as she shivered. "How was I supposed to stop him from leaving?"

"Answer the question!" he seethed, dark eyes narrowing as he took a step forward.

The woman swallowed and put a hand to her head. If only the world would stop spinning, she might be able to think straight! "I…yes," she finished softly.

Devnos stared at her, stunned by the miserable honesty in her eyes, and by the fact that she had just _admitted_ her betrayal, yet seemed unremorseful. Then electricity began to crackle in his hands. In his exhaustion – of his search, of the Darkness, of the Strings' battering – he struck out.

Sanar cried out the first time the lightning hit her, then rapidly lost the strength to do anything more than uselessly try to twist out of the way. Although Devnos' bursts of electricity were not uniquely high-powered, it crackled up her skin, and Sanar, in her weakened state, could do nothing to fight it. It paused only for a minute when she fell off the bed, but then Devnos relocated her.

Devnos couldn't see her pain – he could barely even see Sanar. All he felt was everything pulling him in every direction, demanding his loyalty, spurning the most basic things that he tried to protect. **IT** cheered him on, which only raised his temper, and again and again he struck out, trying to somehow rid himself of his increasing rage and hatred, but only contacting his sister.

It had been building up for a long, long time.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kyp Durron could see it, but he couldn't stop it. On instinct, he had tried to step between Sanar and Devnos, but he was useless, and the Force, which controlled his ability to take form, was maintaining his invisibility. Sanar's mostly untrained mind flailed to use the Force, but she hadn't the control – or strength, at this moment – to summon it.

Then, the nudge.

_Reach out_, the Force seemed to tell him.

Could he still do that? Brushing aside the uncertainty that had never been his before death, Kyp threw a line of his presence out to Sanar and latched on. She fought him at first, but with electricity streaming through her, she had little choice in the matter.

_Trust me_, he murmured into her mind, then gathered his power. It had been two years since he last used it, and at first it came creakily – then in waves. Sanar jumped a little as she felt it flood her mind, and Kyp moved as delicately as he could, leading her, showing her how to use his strength to fight back.

It felt normal.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Devnos was stunned when, without warning, his bursts of lightning sprung back at him. The electricity swarmed him, startling even **IT**, before he managed to build up his defences. The fight began in earnest, Sanar having found a new supply of energy that surpassed anything Devnos had before met.

But Sanar's weakness still plagued her, and not even Kyp's devastating amount of power could entirely tip the scales. Fortunately for her, when she ran dry, so too did Devnos, and the two siblings fell back, gasping for air, trying to recover.

Devnos managed to pull himself up first, and he fought his way to the side of Sanar's bed, where had she fallen. Her gaze was erratic with dizziness and pain, and her skin crawled with a chill only she could feel. A part of him knew it was not the Dark electricity that was destroying her, and he felt even worse.

She convulsed, so hard that she bit her tongue, and blood trickled from her mouth. He dragged himself along the carpet on his elbows until he was right next to her. With a movement that was ironically gentle, he brushed the copper liquid away, and weakly tucked her brown, tired locks behind her ear.

When at last she could speak, Sanar's head lolled to the side, so that she was staring into Devnos' gaze. "Zekk loved her," she whispered, choking on her pain. "He loved her so much. I couldn't…" Her eyes closed, and tears leaked from them. "I wanted to deserve something like that."

"There's no such thing as love," he replied, an unacknowledged sliver of his heart breaking with the truth. "Not for people like us."

She found her strength again, in an impulsive burst that was wholly Sanar. "I don't care," she said, her voice cracking. "I think…I think there is. And I want it. I want to live, and I'm going to be loved. I don't care what you say. I need it."

Her brother wanted to reply, but Devnos had shut that part down a long time ago, by necessity. So, instead, he shut his eyes.

There was silence.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Any comments would be appreciated :)

.Tjz


	40. Ch22: Noble Intentions

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Noble Intentions**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"…_and I'll shoot you right through your noble intentions."_  
- Captain James Hook, "Peter Pan" (2003)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_One Week Later_

Devnos knew that he should pry Zekk's location out of Sanar, but he wanted to avoid her. Wanted to make sure that he was once more in control before he saw her tired face again. Sanar was evading him as well, not answering even Falat's knocks. Instead, she waited until the men were gone before her hand slipped out of the door to take in her tray of food. During the nights, when the others were asleep, she tip-toed out of her room and quietly cleaned her plate before putting things away. It wasn't like Sanar, and Devnos was nearly ready to knock the door down – not for information on Zekk, but to see if she was alright.

He knew she wasn't feeling well, but surely she had gotten over that by now? It had been over a month since she first began her fast. Viruses did not generally last so long, and, despite his better judgement, Devnos was increasingly worried for her.

For her – and…a great deal of other things.

Falat had stayed out of Sanar's way, and Devnos thought nothing of his apprentice's avoidance. The younger man had no connection with her, after all, and that was how Devnos wanted it.

Therefore, Devnos was more than a little surprised when Falat came to him and said, "Your sister isn't getting any better, Klis."

Devnos eyed the younger, sandy-haired man as one would stare at an insect that dared to crawl on one's food. "Why is that any of your concern?"

Falat bristled. "She knows something of Onyx's location; you can't exploit that resource if she dies."

Devnos banged his mug of caf down on his desk with a clank. "How did you come by that information?"

"You _were_ shouting. I went to see what was wrong. Since you haven't set a specific course yet, I assume you haven't pried the answers out of her."

"Might I remind you who is the apprentice, and who is the master, _Yn'paw_?" He stretched Falat's last name disdainfully.

"Might _I_ remind you, _Klis_, who we serve?" Falat snapped in return. "If you don't pluck it out of her, I will."

Devnos stood, his aura becoming noticeably more dangerous. "Finesse," he heard himself say, "is something you lack. Now leave me be, and watch a master retrieve the answers."

Falat nodded his acquiescence, albeit untrustingly. "Very well. But – remember: to do otherwise," his expression darkened, "would be treason against your emperor." With that warning, he left – fortunately, because Devnos was looking for someone to punch…reason, optional.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar didn't look up – not when he knocked, not when he entered. Although her burns had healed rapidly, every part of her ached, and her heart was no exception.

"Where is Zekk?"

She tried to roll over in bed, but stopped when her insides burned. "I don't know."

He was silent for a moment, watching her. "Have you been holed up in here because of your illness?"

Even sighing hurt. "It comes and goes."

Devnos accepted what she did not say. "Are you still sick in the mornings?"

"Why are you pretending to care?" she returned.

"Are you?" he repeated, ignoring her own question.

"I won't answer until you tell me."

He walked to her side of the bed, and crouched so that his eyes were level with her own. They had once traded these lines with grins, but his expression was inscrutable, only the barest hint of amusement fluttering in his eyes. "I asked first."

"So? I'm sick. I get special treatment."

"Sanar…"

A puff of her breath disturbed the hair in front of her face. "No energy to eat," she said shortly. "Everything tastes like sand." She shrugged. "But, sometimes…"

Again, he did not immediately respond. "I sent a bounty hunter to find information on Onyx's – Zekk's – lover. The bounty hunter has since disappeared. Is Jaina alive?"

From under the thick hair there was a pause, then a nod. "Yes."

"The line about her suffering severe head trauma, then, was a lie." Devnos had expected to feel anger, but only weariness swamped him.

"No."

"Explain?"

She swallowed, then brushed some of her hair out of her face. "You won't win, Devnos. Maybe you'll capture Jaina, maybe you'll lure Zekk in…but, in the end, you'll lose."

He stood abruptly but, with some hesitation, leaned back down again to pull the blankets up to her chin. "Get some sleep."

"Thanks," she murmured, too tired to be uncertain.

**IT** was furious, but Devnos ignored the pain. Nothing deadly had occurred, after all.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Falat was making a nuisance of himself, so Devnos set him to locating Jaina Solo. He, meanwhile, sat in his room and agonized. The action had always been a part of his life, but for the first time in a long time, his brooding had nothing to do with how events affected him or his projects.

Like a broken holo, a list of Sanar's symptoms ran through his mind. The sickness, the chills, the paranoia… If it had been a mere virus, it would have faded away a month ago.

Sanar had suspected poison from the beginning. Now, her symptoms gave the appearance of agreeing with her. Was she right about _him_, too?

**_Maybe_**, **IT** cackled.

Devnos' mind flew. Had he done the deed and forgotten? Had **IT**…?

_Larifx. Am I murdering my sister?_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar considered getting up to comm and warn Jaina, which showed just how out of it she was. Attempting to leave her bed, however, sent ice, fire, and tiny, chomping monsters down her back, and she gave up on the noble idea.

Sleep brought only bizarre, disjointed dreams with no escape into her love's arms. When Sanar woke, she stared ahead blankly for hours before she recalled anything of her nightmares.

Blood – lots of it – on her hands. Incompleteness. Pain. Cries of anguish.

She shuddered. Had she been reliving Horaire's murder? The woman brooded on this gruesome possibility until another memory came – brown hair. It had been too long for Sanar, though, especially at the time of Horaire's death. Jaina, perhaps? Had she dreamed (_foreseen_) Solo's death?

At this line of thought, she remembered that Devnos was now aware of Jaina's continued existence. Suddenly, and quite without her consent, Sanar found herself in a moral dilemma: should she warn Solo, or let the girl's hero-lover fend for her safety?

Of course, the woman allowed, she was hardly in an ideal position to warn people. Devnos' comm machine was out of the question as it was in the middle of the ship. Sanar could hardly _call_ Solo, even if she knew where the girl had landed herself. Sanar's only way of contact was through the Force, and even that was not possible. Her access to the Force had been sporadic of late, interfering even with Durron's ability to give himself visual form.

As if she had been summoned, Jaina was abruptly in Sanar's head. /_Stars, Sanar; are you_ alright_? You keep…fading, and…_/

Even more surprisingly, Sanar felt herself instinctively latch onto Jaina, drawing strength and reassurance from the girl. When, she wondered, had she become so…so needy/_I…don't really know what's wrong._/

/_You feel green and…flaky_./ Jaina's concern rang even louder than her words. /_Do I need to come over and kill Devnos? Just say the word._/

Sanar spoke before she could dismiss her new, noble intentions. /_Devnos knows you're alive._/

Nonchalance, with just a sprinkling of confusion, ran around Jaina's presence. /_So?_/ she replied flippantly. /_Look, I tried to reach you before, but…have you been blocking me? You keep moving. It's kind of disconcerting._/

Impatient with Jaina's worrying, Sanar interrupted the younger woman. /_He wants to use you to get to Zekk._/

Reluctantly, Jaina accepted the change of subject. /_Is he the one who sent the assassin? She's already dead._/ Embarrassment definitely coloured her voice.

/_Maybe. He's coming after you himself, now._/

Jaina scoffed. /_I can take care of that_ puzilts _any day. Uh, by the way, what does "puzilts" mean? I didn't quite catch the definition, other than it being an insult…_/

/_Worthless, inept person,_/ Sanar translated rapidly with a roll of her eyes.

/_Oh, good. 'Cause then I used it on the right – _/

/_Solo! Haven't you heard_ anything_ I said? Devnos thinks he can get Zekk through you – and he can. Don't underestimate him._/

/_I'll fight._/

/_You could die._/

Jaina's amusement lightened Sanar's pain, just a little. /_Already did, Sanar. What's wrong? Old age getting to your memory?_/ Then, a little more seriously, Jaina continued. /_I'm a Jedi. My job is to look death in the eye…and remind it that there is only the Force._/

/_I'm not going to save you again. Any more bonding and I'll have more than just me in my head. One person and a too-strong bond are quite enough for me, thank you very much._/

Jaina laughed. /_Sanar – _/

But the Force disappeared again, and Sanar would never know what Jaina meant to say. It felt strangely normal, to her. Everyone always vanished before Sanar could fully accept their gift – whether it be love, understanding, or the ever-missing comradeship.

So why did she expect more?

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Any comments would be appreciated :)

.Tjz


	41. Ch23: A Lesson in Patience

**Chapter Twenty-Three: A Lesson in Patience**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

After Sanar once again moved in the Force, Jaina tried to find her again – with no success. Although Sanar still read in her mind, an open mental connection was becoming increasingly difficult to achieve. Jaina's worry had not greatly dissipated when, hours later, Zekk holo-commed her for what Krista had dubbed "romantic therapy".

"Doctor," he greeted playfully, but his eyes were tired.

She smiled faintly. "You're late."

"Sorry – top secret work for the war effort never learned the courtesy of ending within time constraints."

"I take it you're responsible for the Empire's erratic supplies?"

Zekk grinned. "Maybe." His expression became more serious, however, as he studied her. "What's wrong?"

Jaina gave up on trying to hide her concern. "Sanar's in trouble."

"What do you mean?"

She threw her arms up helplessly. "I don't know – and she doesn't either. But she keeps fading in and out on me. _I_ can barely feel her, which should tell you just how bad it is. She's not blocking, though; we were talking, and then all of a sudden…bam! She was gone. Just like that."

Zekk frowned. "Maybe her new owner…"

"Her _brother_," Jaina informed him gloomily.

"Maybe her brother has been blocking her, or maybe he keeps Ysalamiri around her."

Jaina was quiet for a moment, biting her lip nervously. "Zekk… It feels like Sanar is dying. I don't want to think that Devnos would do anything permanent to her, but I've felt death before. And…Sanar is close to it."

Zekk swallowed, considering several placating phrases and rejecting them as quickly as they came. Jaina wouldn't stand for lies – not when someone she cared about was in such a precarious state. "How long, do you think?"

"I don't _know_," Jaina raged, drawing a vicious hand through her hair. "_Sanar_ is in my head, but what's actually going through her mind right now… I'm getting next to nothing."

"Have you had any attacks?" It was a subtle shift in conversation, but Zekk needed time to think out some possibilities.

"One or two…none of them major, and I haven't had one from Sanar in almost a month." She fell into silence, and though, technically, it was wasting their time, Zekk didn't speak. The pangs were starting again, but Zekk hid them. He had chosen to leave, chosen to work for others and not for himself. Being away from Jaina was part of his sacrifice.

But it was getting worse. On Bob, they had barely even needed to speak, being so closely tied. Now…

_You chose this_._ It won't be forever._

Jaina sighed, breaking into his thoughts. "Well, how are things on your end?"

Zekk shrugged. "Oh, normal enough, I suppose." He paused. "Miko Reglia joined the team, did I tell you?"

She laughed. "No, but I shouldn't be surprised… He was the one who warned me about the Rebel attack. I guess he really did turn back. At the time, I didn't know whether or not to believe him…"

"Apparently, he and Krista have been a team for almost half of the war. He was under Onyx's command the entire time, and no one noticed." Zekk snickered.

The tension in her eyes disappeared as Jaina leaned forward. "Well, that's why the Empire is doomed. I predict another year, and then smooth sailing."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Is that a _prediction_ or a hint from Sanar?"

She scoffed. "Like Sanar cares who wins this war. I haven't a clue – just a hope." Then her expression softened, and Zekk was reminded all over again why he was making this sacrifice.

"Have I told you today that I love you?"

"In my head…yes. Have I?"

He tapped his forehead. "'In my head, yeah'," he echoed.

Her smile grew before she sighed. "You have to go now, don't you?"

"I should probably connect with Krista," he agreed reluctantly. "You know, figure out what we're doing next…that sort of thing."

"Have fun." There was a devilish glint in her eye, unfettered by jealousy, proclaiming that she knew about Krista's flirtation which, although harmless, was really beginning to annoy the recipient.

Zekk groaned. "You're evil, you know that?"

She blew a kiss. "Love you, too, sweetie." Her head slanted to the side, and she spoke to someone, who responded. Turning back to him, Jaina grinned. "Well, you're not the only one who's gotta dash. I have a girl talk to start."

His left eye twitched. "Well, I'll definitely sign off on that…"

She laughed. "Bye, Zekk."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista and Miko looked up when Zekk sat across from them. Almost immediately, Miko went back to studying his reports, but Krista's eyes remained fastened on the dark-haired man before her. "How's Jaina?"

"Worried about a friend."

The girl brightened before she donned a sympathetic expression. "Oh, poor baby. Is she's cheating on you? Let me comfort you."

Zekk rolled his eyes. "The friend happens to be a bitter, female slave that Jaina adopted into her family. And there will be no comforting."

"Just a teensy, weensy bit?"

"No."

Krista's generous lips pouted, and Miko glanced up long enough to look amused. "Fine," she sulked. "Be that way."

She lasted two whole minutes of silence before bouncing high on her plush hover-couch, rocking Miko and sending his reports careening to the floor. She ignored the way her fellow Intel agent shook his head in disapproval. "Where do you want to hit next?" she asked, flipping her hair. "The bank accounts?" Her blue eyes glistened impishly. "You might not even have to be all evilly – just an overprotective lover as I flirt with the managers." She batted her eyes.

Zekk groaned. "Krista…"

The young woman flounced, tossing her hair. "Oh, fine. I know _plenty_ of other, delicious men who will play the part if I ask them…" When Zekk did not look jealous or, indeed, regretful that he had been replaced, Krista reluctantly continued. "So…any comment from you? Yay, cutting off the cash flow? No, I'm out of my mind? Miko?" She nudged the red-haired man, who shrugged, engrossed in whatever he was reading.

"Why are we only hitting the small veins?" Zekk blurted out.

Krista watched his impatience with a careful eye, the first real hint that she sometimes looked at him and saw Onyx. "Brakiss can't stop the small things, and he underestimates their importance. Missing supplies lowers moral. Attacks on the accounts give them debts that need to be paid. At the moment, it's all we can do."

"All you're _willing_ to do, you mean."

Before Krista could speak, Miko looked up, his gaze steely. "You aren't the perfect double agent, Zekk. The important people know you turned back; some of them even know why. We have only as much wiggle room as Brakiss' pride allows."

"I was second-in-command," Zekk retorted. "There _has_ to be something else I can do!"

"Unless you've developed Kyp Durron's ability to wipe away Brakiss' memory," Krista injected, "you could work on calming down. What's with you? Usually you're in the clouds after your evening call."

Zekk sighed, sinking into the couch. "I just want this to be over with."

"It doesn't work that way," Miko snapped. "Don't think that everything is perfect now that Jaina and you have been reunited over your turning and her coming back to life. You screwed up; no one will ever forget that. You can't take the easy way out – the paths you took before sent an entire galaxy tumbling back into a war that should have ended twenty years before."

"You think I don't know that?" Zekk hissed. "Do you honestly believe that I sleep at night, forgetting the murders I committed? There's so much blood on my hands, I can barely make it through the day!"

"If it's too much, then go back to Jaina and wait for your trial."

"I would love to, Miko, really," Zekk retorted, his eyes narrowing dangerously. "At the moment, however, I'm trying to do the right thing."

"More than you can say for the past five years…"

"Miko, stop it!" Krista finally interrupted. "_Both_ of you messed up." She stood, hands on her hips, and glowered at her companions. "Zekk, go call up Jaina again. That'll have to do until the Rebellion is done with you. Miko…" She floundered. "Go talk to somebody _you_ love. Maybe it'll teach you a little humility…" With that, she stomped off. After a moment, Miko followed her out, presumably to get away from his former commander, or to contact someone.

Zekk remained where he was. Being around Jaina had become some kind of fail-safe solution, but she couldn't help when _she_ was a big part of the problem.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Miko caught up with Krista just before she stuffed an oversized portion of chocolate into her mouth. He let her chew and swallow before he spoke. "What did the higher-ups say about him?"

"About Zekk?" She sighed and brushed some crumbs off her lips. "They want us to monitor him some more – you know, make sure it's not a trap, even though every sign points to his betrayal of the Empire, blah, blah, blah. No skin off my nose. Frustrated Zekk is so – "

"If you say 'sexy'," Miko interrupted dryly, "I'll steal your junk food to comfort my increasingly disturbed mind."

Krista made a face and hugged her candy bar closer to her. "Anyway, our orders are to keep at the edges – cut the bad guys out of the picture, so to speak. At this rate, he'll lose all his relevant information."

Miko shrugged. "I'm still relevant, and I didn't have nearly the same amount of access."

"You also didn't try to kill Brakiss before you left."

"Of course I did," he argued, mock-injured. "What else would you call putting a bomb right next to him? Brakiss just didn't put two and two together. He'll figure it out when he has the time."

"No, he won't," Krista protested, her eyes widening stubbornly. "You're too smart for him."

"Well," Miko said with a long-suffering sigh, "when he does, I suppose I'll have to go into hiding. Brakiss needn't cover up _my_ defection." He looked down, pretending to be disappointed, then peeked up to watch Krista's reaction, hoping.

"What? Hiding?" She sounded panicked. "You're Intel now. _I_, in my professional capacity, decide when you go."

The red-haired man restrained his grin. "But I'd only jeopardize the mission," he argued impishly. "Surely your professionalism would make you realize that."

If she caught the teasing in his voice, Krista showed no such indication. "You're staying," she sulked, eating more of her "comfort" food.

Miko, on the other hand, smirked and strolled out of the room. This lesson in patience was definitely more interesting than the ones Kyp had provided.

Now he just needed to keep his sanity until it came together. And avoid punching in the faces of her boy-toys.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Any comments would be appreciated :)

.Tjz


	42. Ch24: The Pieces of an Old Life

**Chapter Twenty-Four: The Pieces of an Old Life**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Wedge Antilles," a voice drawled. "How long, exactly, do you plan on ignoring me?"

The general looked up to see Jaina Solo leaning against the doorway. "Excuse me?"

"I've been around for almost two months, and I still haven't been told to debrief, or show up for some military meeting."

"There was no reason to contact you."

"Yeah, we're only at war," she retorted sarcastically.

"The Queen Regent will not use our forces in the defence of Hapes, and after our more recent battle at Coruscant…"

"How much did we put into it?" Jaina asked, straightening anxiously.

"It wasn't the Death Star, but we needed that victory." Wedge regarded her for a moment, then waved her into the room. "Close the door behind you, Colonel."

She sat without waiting for permission, and Wedge marked the action with a raised eyebrow. "Take a seat, why don't you?"

She smirked, reminding Wedge of other beings' attempts to describe how Jaina had changed. "She's just…_different_," most had finally, helplessly, settled upon.

"So," Jaina said brightly, breaking into his thoughts, "what are we doing, other than crawling around, trying to get some of the Hapans' scraps?"

"Our attack on the Imperial Palace was part of a double-pronged attack," Wedge began slowly. "The grand-scale battle drew the Empire's attention, while we darted in elsewhere."

"What was the other target? Did it work?"

Again, he considered her before responding. "I can't and won't answer either of those questions."

Jaina's spine stiffened. "Am I wasting my time, trying to pick up the pieces of my old life?" she demanded coldly.

"You just came back from the dead and the Empire," he stated bluntly. "Rumour has it, you also brought Onyx back with you. Even if the last two did not compromise you, I doubt the Jedi have completely mastered rehabilitation after death."

She swallowed hard. "I'm well enough to fly, General Antilles. If I need to, I will undergo the physical testing required."

"Do you mean to say you want me to throw your parents' only remaining child back into battle…again?"

"Can you afford to do otherwise?" she snapped in return, crossing her arms over her chest insolently. "With all due respect, sir, I'm not the daughter of your friends right now; I'm a veteran fighter you need back in the ranks."

The fire he had been looking for was back, but… Wedge sighed. Well, she was probably right. After five years, no one could afford anything without Imperial credits or a lucky sabacc card up their sleeve. "Do your parents know you're here?"

Jaina seemed to change before his eyes again, and she swung her feet up onto Wedge's desk. "Dad does. Mom was a little preoccupied."

He pushed her feet off the edge of his table and leaned forward. "I'm not putting you back in the skies until Leia's child is born. No dangerous missions, Solo."

Reluctantly, she nodded.

"Come back in two hours. Your mission information will be in the usual slot."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Got everything?"

Jaina threw her bag up into the cockpit of her X-wing. "I'm only going for a few days, Cerasy. It's not like I need _that_ much."

Her currently red-haired friend leaned against the fighter ship, one hand resting on the blaster that was holstered near her hip. "Got your blasters?"

Jaina smirked. "Three I'll admit to."

"You _did_ practice your aim, right?" Cerasy checked, eying her friend dubiously. "You've gotten pretty used to plain saber-fighting, and with your blade out of commission—"

"We can do target practice later," Jaina laughed, knowing perfectly well what Cerasy's motivation was. "Meanwhile, I'll be fine or disgraced. My father _is_ Han Solo, after all…"

Her father threw Jaina a bag of power cells as he came up beside the two women. "And don't you forget it, kid. Miss a shot by accident, and you're grounded."

"Where's Mom?"

Han squeezed Jaina's shoulders affectionately and nodded to the hallway on the opposite side of the hanger. "She's coming – hadta talk to one of those politician types; they tracked her all the way down here, apparently."

"Mom shouldn't be working now," Jaina muttered peevishly. "She only has a month left…"

Han chuckled. "Getting your mom to stop is like trying to outshoot me – dangerous and foolish. She'll be fine, sweetie."

When Cerasy left for a minute, Han leaned in closer. "Play nice with your mom, okay, Jaina? She doesn't have it easy right now, but she's trying. You need to give her space."

"I am," Jaina retorted. "Won't several systems be far enough away?"

"That's not what I meant, princess."

Before he could say more, the landing bay was busy with friends come to see her off. Aarylia, who had pried herself away from Jaina long enough to train with Tiran, raced up and grasped Jaina's hand tightly.

Gryq Harif, Krista's brother and Jaina's partner for the mission, brightened when he saw Tayra Lam not far behind the crowd. "Fifteen minutes until departure, Solo," he called before running to say goodbye to his fiancée.

"I see the munchkin's firmly attached," Cerasy mused, raising an eyebrow at Jaina and Aarie. "But where's Tiran? I told him to be here…"

Jaina's own eyebrows went up; Tiran was listening to Cerasy now, was he? "Cerasy, is there anything you'd like to tell me?"

The bounty hunter smiled innocently. "We lasted five minutes," she said cryptically.

As Cerasy spoke, Tiran dragged himself forward. "Solo," he greeted warily, blue eyes resting on Aarie, checking for emotional turmoil.

Jaina smiled weakly. They had been friends once, but theirs had always been a rocky relationship. _It'll just take a little longer_, she told herself encouragingly. "If it isn't the grimy mechanic," she teased, trying to keep the atmosphere light. When the intensity in his gaze failed to lessen, Jaina sighed. "Look, Tir, I'm sorry. I wasn't a pleasant person to be around immediately after…well, you know. I thought it would be better to heal on my own first."

"Please," Cerasy interrupted. "Why should _you_ apologize, Solo? If Lee-droy isn't big enough to—"

And they were off. Jaina could only gape in amazement as Cerasy and Tiran – both of whom had confessed to crushing on the other – began arguing and insulting each other like no tomorrow. When she finally managed to drag her gaze away, she saw Aarylia smirking in a way that reminded Jaina of Tiran. "I will never understand these two," the Jedi Knight offered, stunned.

Aarie shrugged and laughed. "Master Tir always beats himself up afterwards, but at least they'll never lose the spark."

"How can you lose a forest fire?" Jaina agreed with a shake of her head.

Garik's hand brushed her elbow. "Solo, your mother's waiting."

She turned at his voice, then sighed before smiling. "Aarie, why don't you and Garik check and make sure the ship's ready?" The girl squealed happily and dragged Garik away before the diplomat could protest and remind everyone of his lack of savoir-faire in mechanics.

Before her mother could waddle across the landing bay (gracefully, of course; she _was_ a princess), Jaina strode forward. "Are you alright?"

"Be strong enough to support a whole other life, and be treated like an invalid," Leia grumbled, shaking away Jaina's attempts to support her. "I wish I could have forgotten about this part of pregnancy."

Jaina flushed. "Births have gone badly because of overworking before," she defended lamely. It was more Sanar's dread than Jaina's, who knew everything was progressing well.

"Overworking is not seeing my daughter off before she taunts death again."

"It's only recon, Mom."

"You'll be in Imperial space."

"_Every_where is Imperial space," the young woman argued. "That's why I'm going."

"Promise you'll be safe."

Jaina hugged Leia. "I'll be back before my brother – or sister – is born," she promised. "Try not to worry."

Leia squeezed tighter for a moment before letting go. "I always worry, but especially when one of my loved ones won't promise to be safe. I know my family too well, Jaina."

Her daughter chuckled. "It's half you, Mom," she teased.

"That's half the cause of my anxiety, sweetie." Leia glanced over Jaina's shoulder. "Gryq is waiting for you."

With a last hug for her mother, and several more goodbyes, Jaina swung into her cockpit. Buttons were flashing, her astromech was texting frantically, and Jaina laughed. _Tiran will have to teach Aarie how to work a ship. Garik will never be able to._

It was good to be alive.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Any comments would be appreciated :)

.Tjz


	43. Ch25: Kryntathi

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Kryntathi**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"I'll take the left side. You veer off to the right and meet me on the other side of the planet before landing. If you see anything – good or bad – let me know immediately," Gryq ordered.

Jaina clicked her comm twice in agreement. "Ghost Girl out.

Flipping the comm frequency off with a decisive switch, Jaina relaxed into her seat. The planet was Tirith. When pushed, Wedge had, vaguely, explained that the Rebellion had tried to take back the merchant planet, which was particularly loyal to their old government. The lure of business alliances probably hadn't hurt the Rebellion's desire to help, either, Jaina thought wryly. The attempt to recapture the planet hadn't gone very smoothly, but Wedge wasn't sure how much _had_ worked out, and wanted Gryq and Jaina to check it out.

_Piece of sweet cake with frill syrup_, she conceded. Wedge had given her a rookie's job – a job that was made all the easier after her death. She had worked on and off with Intelligence, but Zekk supplied a wealth of Imperial knowledge, which more than came in handy. Although Jaina and Zekk's bond was not of the sometimes eerie I-lived-your-life sense that Jaina and Sanar shared, more than a little bled through their connection. Donning "Zekk's" eyes, she lowered her ship and scanned the planet's topography, absently scrawling down notes.

_Higher concentration of patrol ships – definitely on guard; probably best to expect a few traps as well, just in case. The Empire doesn't want to get caught with their pants down again._

_Patrol ships look battered, and are going at a slower pace; the look-outs are always in the best condition but, again, it could be a trick._

_No hassle after entering the atmosphere; either they're too busy looking for trouble, or they have sympathetic locals manning the controls while the Empire gathers themselves._

_The base…_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar had had quite enough. Anything she made herself eat came up in minutes. Medicine did nothing to help. Her dreams were confusing at best, and she had given up on the idea of them being visions; the Strings were rarely so tangled, especially now that they, too, had abandoned her.

She was going to make Devnos confess.

If, that is, she was able to stay awake, stave off the dizziness and hallucinations, and still manage to speak cohesively. And remember her plan. Starting with "Wouldn't you rather gloat?" might be good. Confrontational. Sure to provoke him into slipping, without requiring a whole bunch of energy on her part.

Sanar had taken to naps in the afternoon, but she always woke up feeling worse. Right now was no exception. Her head was spinning just from _thinking_ about being vertical.

Get up she did, however, and she felt a little better for it. Sanar made it all the way out of her door before she saw it.

Blood, covering the floor.

Shrieking softly, Sanar stumbled away from the sticky, red liquid that was rapidly spreading toward her feet. She knew – _knew_ – that around the corner she would see Hoaire's corpse. Squeezing her eyes shut, she tried to will it away. _This isn't happening. It can't._

And when she opened her eyes, it wasn't. Sanar took a shuddering breath, trying to steady herself. When she pushed herself back to her feet, she continued on to the lounge with trembling muscles. The delusions were coming more and more often, and she was getting better at dealing with them, but they still undid her, each and every time, no matter how she prepared herself.

When she entered the front chamber, however, Sanar's gaze found not her brother but his apprentice. Falat was leaning over something, while two glass vials, filled with a pale green substance, sat innocently on his desk, to the left of his datapads. The containers weren't rattling at all, and Sanar recognized vaguely that they must have stopped again. For more information on Zekk, maybe? But surely Devnos had gotten everything he wanted when he returned to Ennth that night…

"What are you _doing_?" It felt good to yell at someone, and Sanar was cranky enough to summon the energy to do just that.

Falat stopped, then turned to look at her. His blue eyes hit her like steel. "Working. What do you want?"

Instead of answering, she pretended that the only reason she was now leaning against his desk was because she wanted to peek at his 'work'. "What's with the weird juice?"

"Truth serum," he said impatiently, glaring up at her for disturbing him. She couldn't tell if he was lying or not.

Picking up one of the thin glasses, she studied it. "It all looks Gamorrean to me. Who's it—"

"Did you interrupt me solely to chat about what is clearly above you?"

Sanar bristled at his tone, and again she gathered her strength. "Where's Devnos?"

"Why?"

If he kept this up, she was going to scream. In his ear. "Because I want to talk to him, _obviously_," she growled in frustration.

"About…?"

She smacked him, but doubted he felt anything. "About whether or not he's poisoning me," she replied caustically.

Falat's hands, which had been moving a very weathered book, stilled. "Poisoning you?" His eyes flicked up to study her like a scientist regarding a specimen about to be dissected. "Is that the reason for your inability to move faster than crushed ice?"

This, she decided grumpily, was why she hated Dark-siders so much. They were so lafit full of themselves, even as their Dark electricity nibbled at their brains. "No, I've been inexplicably sick for two months. Devnos really didn't pick the sharpest knife off the belt, did he?"

Falat stared at her.

Unnerved, Sanar grabbed the book he had begun to put away. The Dark Jedi tried to snatch it back, but she leaned away, almost falling off Falat's desk in the process. "Ah-ah-_ah_!" she crowed breathlessly. "Stealers, keepers." She hopped off his table, managing to land on her feet as she scanned the volume's cover. "Hey," she muttered, perplexed, as she recognized the make of the notebook. "This is from…" Only her home planet made books like this – with tough, dried beast skin. Sanar flipped the worn cover and recognized the chicken scratch at a glance. "This is Devnos' – "

Falat snatched it out of her hands. "Devnos has a lead on Solo's location," he said quickly, shoving the book into a drawer as he answered her earlier question. "Apparently, she's out on a mission for the Rebellion. He thinks she will be in the area soon."

Sanar's mind turned to sludge as it attempted to process what Falat was saying while she fought off a dizzy spell. "He's…going to capture her, isn't he? Use her as bait?"

Devnos' apprentice nodded as he once again took his seat. "Yes. _Now_ will you leave me to my work?"

"Fine." She turned to leave, but her feet wouldn't lift from the ground. "Anything good in there?" she asked, jerking her chin at Devnos' journal, and forcing a smirk.

She was a bratty, younger sister, after all.

Falat smiled thinly. "Some very juicy secrets," he replied cryptically.

"Do a dying, miserable sister a favour: make his life Hell with them."

The door swished closed behind her, and Falat sat back in his chair. "But of course."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina was nearly in sight of Gryq when she spotted a familiar personal shuttle. Although she could not currently put a name to the owner, Jaina was certain this would go down in Wedge's column of "needs to be checked out". And, if not, it definitely went in hers.

For all of twenty seconds, Jaina considered waiting for Gryq. When the owner-ship-connection epiphany kicked in, however, she shot forward into the atmosphere without further thought.

Rescuing an Imperial slave from her brother was a little outside of the mission plan, and Gryq might be too slow to agree. Besides, Devnos required getting the metal kicked out of him for wanting to use her as bait.

No, sometimes it was just better to leave the military out of it. Easier to ask for forgiveness than permission, and all.

She barely paused to encrypt and send her notes to Gryq before she prepared to land. Through their bond, she could feel Zekk's curiosity and his unformed questions. /_Just taking care of a _puzilts_, darling._/

And two-thirds of her was really, really going to take personal enjoyment in it.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Whenever she called him "darling", or any variant thereof, Zekk knew that something was up. That Jaina was playful enough to hum through their bond only increased his anxiety.

Quite unfortunately, neither Jaina nor Sanar possessed much caution, but both – particularly Sanar – made up for it with an evil streak.

"Krista?"

The blonde looked up from her conversation with Talon Karrde and Shada D'ukal. "Yeah?"

"I think I'm going to need leave to head a rescue party." /_Don't do anything too stupid, Jaina._/

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

/_Who, me?_/ Jaina smirked as she stood and holstered two of her blasters, while checking the power cell of the third. /_Never_./

Zekk's resignation was more than amusing. /_Oh, by the way,_/ she projected casually. /_Devnos put a price on my head to get to you. Did you know that?_/

Before Zekk could reply, she blanketed their bond. It was for his own good. Besides, Jaina didn't want him to come too early and spoil her fun.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Well?" Krista said when Karrde and his band had left. "Where to, Zekk?" The blonde watched him expectantly, and Miko turned in his chair.

"Hapes," Zekk replied glumly. "She wants me to look first." At Miko's raised eyebrow, Zekk rolled his eyes. "Just wait until _you_ fall."

Miko shrugged and smirked, his eyes glinting. "I'm not crazy enough to aim for a Solo."

Zekk followed the other man's gaze to Krista, and couldn't suppress his laugh. "There are more dangerous families," he said, "than that of the Solos."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Alright. So maybe she should have built a new lightsaber before going after Devnos. He was still a _puzilts_, but he _was_, after all, a _puzilts_ with a red laser sword.

Devnos also wasn't playing fair, Jaina consoled herself. Not only had he, in a quite unsportsmanlike way, set a trap, but he had slicked the ground, too. Jaina had shot at him with two high-power blasters only to find herself rocketing and sliding in the opposite direction. Not fun – especially when he brought out Ysalamiri.

_Kryntathi are all the same_, her Sanar part grumbled silently.

Pulling herself to her knees, Jaina loosed another stream of blaster fire, evading the bolts that Devnos deflected back to her. "What the kriff are you doing to Sanar?" she demanded.

Devnos reached out with his hand and the Force to bring a tree branch down on her. He was only mildly disappointed when the Jedi dodged it. "You should be more concerned about yourself, Solo."

"I'll save the useless gestures for when I'm sure my sister's okay," Jaina snarled.

Taken aback by her words and the way her scowl made her look even more like Sanar, Devnos shook his head. " 'Your sister'?" he repeated. "Interesting choice of title."

"Considering your recent lack of emotional warmth, I'd say you have no right to be surprised, Devy-boy."

More perplexed by the minute, Devnos changed the subject as he slowly brought the tree branch back behind her head. "I don't suppose you'd be willing to tell me where Lord Onyx is?"

Jaina lowered her blasters for a moment, her expression furious. "Onyx," she spat, "is dead."

"Wrong answer." Devnos sent the branch crashing into the back of Solo's head. Even before she fell, he drew his blaster and stunned her. The slicked ground sent the unconscious Jedi shooting sideways.

Rubbing the back of his head uncomfortably, Devnos deactivated and holstered his lightsaber. And tried not to notice how familiar Jaina's face and current position were.

//_"You won't win, Devnos. Maybe you'll capture Jaina, maybe you'll lure Zekk in…but, in the end, you'll lose."_//

He hated it when Sanar was right. Especially when she was only taking a stab in the dark.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_It will be soon._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Any comments would be appreciated :)

.Tjz


	44. Ch26: Devnos Klis' Little Obsession

**Chapter Twenty-Six: Devnos Klis' Little Obsession**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When she woke up, her first words were as colourful as that of any space pirate Devnos had ever met, and confirmed that his prisoner was, indeed, Jaina Solo. Only the daughter of a Corellian smuggler could know half of her frustrated language. He was surprised, however, when he heard some curses from Na'Lein'yhpaon mixed in with those from the inner worlds.

"I take it my sister taught you those?" he asked dryly.

Jaina's gaze flicked about as she took in her surroundings – a sparse room that doubled as a holding cell and a storage room. "You wouldn't believe me if I told you."

_Let me guess: she brought you back to life_, Devnos thought sarcastically, _and now another story is loose on the galaxy._

When Devnos laughed, Solo gave him a curious look. "What's so funny?"

"What I'm going to do to Onyx," he lied, mostly to see her scowl at the name.

"Onyx is obsolete," she seethed predictably, looking somewhat foolish, cuffed with her hands above her head, as she tried to threaten him.

"Onyx will never be gone," he disagreed, "because he was created by Zekk's dark side. And I don't think you can – or want to – rid your lover of that. Balance, remember?"

Solo glared at him, threats in her eyes – but Devnos had seen the same, all too often, in Sanar's gaze, and so the worst of it was lost on him. "The fact is," he continued, "Zekk will never be without Onyx. The two are one, no matter what lies the two have used to convince each other of otherwise. Just as you will never rid yourself of your own darkness, Jaina Solo."

"How's the head, Devnos?" she asked abruptly, cruelly, changing the subject to Devnos' own weakness.

Devnos froze, staring at her. There was no way she could know. No possible way. _No one_ knew.

"I don't know what you're t-talking about," he denied lamely.

Solo appeared to be filing his reaction away, and he wanted to shake and _beat_ the kindling realization out of her. That she did not comment further confirmed her lack of evidence, but that she suspected _anything_ was too much.

Jaina Solo wasn't going to leave his shuttle alive. No matter what he bargained out of her, no matter what Sanar said, or what Lord Blasted Onyx did.

"What are you going to do with me?" Solo asked after a moment.

Devnos straightened. "You will stay here."

When she rolled her eyes, he noticed that they were lighter than Sanar's eyes. But Onyx probably would have chosen only those closest to Solo's appearance. Had Sanar worn coloured contacts? Why would she go through so much trouble?

"Duh," the Jedi replied, breaking into his sudden questions. "I meant, what are you planning?"

Devnos stretched his lips in a way that only vaguely resembled a smile. "Just leave that to me, Solo."

He was almost out the door when Solo called out, "Written anything lately, Devy-boy?"

The door swished closed behind him, and the ysalamiri were released.

_Jaina Solo is a dead woman_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Something had been bugging Sanar ever since her talk with Falat, but she didn't realize what it was until she had devoted several hours to discovering it.

Devnos' journal, in Falat's possession.

Although she was bitterly sure that her brother had stopped filling his books with stories and depth and drawings years ago, he had always been borderline obsessive about them. Devnos Klis was the only one allowed to touch Devnos Klis' journals – Sanar had learned that quickly. Once, when she was ten, she had tried to find the story of the Kavishka, and thus revel in her crush on the mythical hero. She had seen Devnos scribble notes in his book, and she had figured it was as good a place as any to start looking.

Devnos' reaction had clearly impressed upon her the error of her ways.

Even before her hands had closed around the journal, Devnos had ripped it away, throwing it across the room in his panic. "What are you doing?!" he had demanded, taking her by the shoulders, rattling her so hard she thought her teeth would break.

"I j-just w-wanted to…"

"_Never_ touch my books again!"

Sanar had pried his fingers from her arms, feeling the bruises form even as she stared at him. She and Devnos had fought, just like any siblings, but he had never before physically hurt her. She had been too stunned, too shattered, to fight back. "I—I—I'm s…sorry," she had stuttered.

He had stared at her, eyes wild, his dark hair askew, until she left the room at a run. Only then had he retrieved his precious journal. And Sanar had never touched any of his books again.

Devnos had apologized later, Sanar remembered now – for hurting her, though, not for stopping her from reading his book. "There are some things," he had explained hoarsely, "that…that you should just let me worry about. I'm your big brother… You'll understand someday."

She had let it go – as the family freak, she had to accept everyone else's relatively minor eccentricities. Still…

Sanar frowned at the memory as she splashed some water on her face. The cold drops fizzled against her skin as her face went from too warm to frigid.

The reasons for Devnos' flipping out were, and always would be, ambiguous.

"_Never touch my books again!"_

And that had been when he was still her reassuring big brother, who read her stories every night, and who tucked her in when their father wasn't around. Why would Devnos let Falat near his books now? True, Falat had no doubt stolen it. But…how could Devnos be so careless with something that meant everything to him?

"That's it," she muttered, smacking the blanket, on which she sat. "That's _it_."

She dragged herself out of her quarters to find Devnos. Falat might offer opportunities for blackmail and head games, but Sanar could not dismiss the feeling that something was very wrong.

The slave found her brother in his office, going over information about Jaina Solo. "I wondered how long it would take you," he said dryly, but his eyes ran over her, making sure that she was not yet on death's doorstep. As if worried she would notice, his gaze reattached to his datapad.

Sanar's stride hitched, Devnos' words throwing her off balance. "What?"

"Solo called you her sister. In fact, the reason she was so easy to capture was that she came to rescue you."

"Really." Sanar blinked several times before the words made sense. "She…she did. For me?" It sounded like a question, even to her.

Devnos looked up, frowning slightly. "She knew you were in trouble. That's why she came. Might I ask what motivated her to walk right into my grasp for someone she barely knows?"

His only response was a blank stare.

"She also used some language that was straight from your mouth."

"Oh."

"I was under the impression that the two of you did not get along."

Sanar all but fell into the free chair in front of Devnos' desk. "We didn't." And she had no idea how genial they were now, either. Everything was so _weird_ lately, and she couldn't understand anything with her head pounding the way it was.

The little green man dancing on Devnos' shoulder wasn't exactly helping, either.

Her brother frowned, and the green man made a face. "Sanar, are you alright?"

_No, duh,_ she thought, childishly. Of course she wasn't. Instead, "Falat," blurted she.

Devnos raised an eyebrow dubiously. "…'Falat'?" he echoed.

"He has it. Your journal. Falat stole your journal." It was freezing. Had she really been too hot before? Devnos' green, shoulder man was doing a jig. Maybe he was trying to get warm.

Devnos' reaction was better than Sanar – or the sprite on his shoulder – could have imagined. First came stunned incomprehension, then rage, followed by horror, until his face was purple, and smoke came out of his ears.

Or maybe that was another hallucination – the smoke, that is. But the green man almost got blown off Devnos' shoulder, so…

"He **_what_**?" Snapping the lock without a thought, Devnos tore open his secret-things drawer, rifling through the datapads and sheets of flimsi. But then he went very, very still, and Sanar knew Falat was a dead-and-rotting man – _if_ he was lucky.

"When."

She would call him Giggles. The green man, that is. He was laughing his head off at Devnos, right now.

"Sanar…" Devnos' words bit the atmosphere.

She swallowed, her mouth suddenly very dry. Again the temperature changed, and she would have killed for a cold glass of water. "I saw him with it…when you were capturing Solo."

Giggles had turned red, and was hopping all over Devnos' face, making it look as if her brother's skin was on fire.

Again Devnos dragged her attention back to him. "Has he – read any of it?" Every syllable was a boulder being thrown from Devnos' mouth.

"Yeah. He – he said there were 'very juicy' secre—"

Devnos cursed so hard and so loud that Sanar paled. Storming past her, he accidentally sent Sanar and her chair sideways, but he didn't even seem to notice. She tried to stay upright, but by the time Devnos had left the room, Darkness in his wake, the chair's legs had cracked. The wood gave, and the chair tumbled to its side, sending Sanar into a face plant.

She couldn't bear to move, and so she didn't. Against the length of her body, the floor echoed Devnos' stomps.

They sounded like heartbeats.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Devnos Klis had the reputation of a terrifying man, which he rarely used to its full power. This day was one of those "rarely's". His rage seemed to fill the whole, not insignificant lounge, until Falat realized that he was claustrophobic. His entire body shaking, only Devnos' face was still, and pale with fury.

But, for several, agonizing moments, he simply glared in pregnant silence.

Which, Falat understood, was far more terrifying than any blow or threat.

The crack of Falat's nose interrupted the silence that had infested the room. Falat's breath hissed with pain as he glared at his master, swiftly recovering his confidence now that the anvil had been dropped. "What was that for?"

"For being a dirty thief. Where – did – you – put – my – **book**?"

Slowly, Falat raised his hand to point at a drawer in his desk. He did not bother to conceal his interest as Devnos threw open the cabinet and grabbed his beast-skin notebook.

"It was an interesting read," Falat called as Devnos turned to leave. When his master froze, the apprentice smirked. "Particularly that of the…what was it…the Kavalier?"

"The Kavishka," Devnos corrected grimly, meeting Falat's eyes in a furious glare.

"That's right. Fascinating story – moving, even, if you sympathize with the weak. What I don't understand, though… Who was she?"

"What do you mean?" Weariness had begun to overtake Devnos' anger as the story was hashed over.

"The story talks about everyone except the Kavishka's lover. I would have dismissed her as irrelevant, considering a name is never given, but that you mentioned her at all…"

"It's only a story," Devnos said, which was true.

Falat's eyes narrowed. "I swore an oath to never accept such a simple answer."

Dread tightened her icy hands around Devnos' throat. "An…oath."

"What are those stories?" Falat pressed.

"Childhood gifts," Devnos forced himself to say.

Now Falat looked interested. "For whom?"

Devnos tried to stay silent, but **IT** tore the answer from his throat. "For my sister."

He spun from the room, possessing more knowledge than he had ever wanted to have.

Why the memory blanks and the pain had been more precisely, carefully targeted.

Who was poisoning Sanar.

That there was nothing he could do about any of it.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Any comments would be appreciated :)

.Tjz


	45. Ch27: You're a Fighter

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: "You're a Fighter"**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Leia Organa Solo could pack quite the punch when she wanted to; no I'm-a-princess-so-I-need-to-be-genial-to-all thought pattern there.

Zekk winced, gingerly testing his tender jaw, only to surmise that he was going to have quite the bruise in a few minutes. "Hello, Mrs. Solo."

"Where is she?"

"You mean Jaina? I was hoping you could tell me."

A red-haired woman ran up, skidding to a stop just before she collided with Zekk. "I'm Cerasy," she said crisply. "Zekk?" Her eyes flicked over him in a business-like manner before she rested a hand on her blaster hilt. "One wrong move, and you're a dead man – clear?"

Krista sidled up beside him, and she swatted Cerasy's arm. "He's safe, Cerasy. Promise." The blonde gave a wide grin, showing her teeth.

Cerasy gave the girl an appraising look, rolled her eyes, then looked back at Zekk. "Like I said. If you so much as blink wrong, Zekk, I'll shoot you."

Krista frowned, looking put off. "I just said he's – "

"Let it slide, Kris," Miko murmured, placing a hand on his partner's shoulder.

"But she – "

"Be quiet, Krista, and this'll go a lot faster." Cerasy took a deep breath, measuring out her patience. "Jaina was assigned to a recon mission on Tirith with Krista's brother."

"_Ooh_, which one?"

The red-haired bounty hunter closed her eyes for a second before answering Krista. "Gryq."

"Eep!" Krista's blue eyes were wide. "Is he here? 'Cause, um, I'm not supposed to be. Here, I mean. I'm supposed to be on some backwater planet, considering nunnery, and planning other pure, safe activities for the rest of my life, and—"

"Krista…"

"Right." Krista pinched her fingers together and drew them across her mouth, mimicking the closing of a zipper. "Not talking."

"Anyway," Cerasy said, raising her hand from her blaster to her hip, "Jaina sent her information in, then apparently got a little sidetracked by something on-planet. No one's heard from her since. Since LOS here," she tipped her head in Leia's direction, "can't feel anything from Jay, we're assuming she was captured by Imperials."

Zekk stared hard at the durocrete ground, as if it held all the answers. "She said Kip thought Brakiss wanted to use her to get to me."

Cerasy and Miko exchanged glances. "I didn't hear about that," Cerasy mused. "It's so nice to be in the loop."

"Speak of the devil…" Miko nodded to the dark-haired clone who was running toward them.

"I am sorry I did not tell you, Cerasy," Kip apologized upon arrival, looking oddly winded. "It was only a theory, and Jaina did not seem worried about it."

"Jaina never worries about _anything_," Cerasy countered under her breath, grinning faintly.

Kip flushed. "I really am – "

"It isn't your fault," Leia said gently, placing a hand on Kip's elbow. "My daughter isn't known for her foresight." She regarded him for a moment, then frowned. "Are you feeling alright, Kip?"

"He's a clone," Krista said bluntly, brightly, before Kip could reply. "He can't be anything other than okay. Right, Kip? Right."

Zekk barely spared Kip a glance. "Is there someplace we can talk in private? This might take a while."

Cerasy shrugged. "We can clear the lounge out."

"Great." Without catching the attention of anyone other than a blushing Krista, Miko's arm had slid around the blonde's shoulders. "Shall we?"

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Easy does it…_ Through victory, Jaina kept her face straight as the cuffs beeped twice. The release code had four sets of numbers, but she had only been working on it for an hour. Two series down was a good thing.

She had just begun to play with the third series when the door clanked. Immediately, she relaxed, letting her hands dangle in their metal restrictions. Devnos walked in a second later.

"Comfortable?"

"Actually," she began cheekily, "I must complain about the service – "

"Good." He studied her for a moment, then said, "You called Sanar your sister. Why?"

Jaina returned his stare with contempt. "You have a lot more explaining to do than I."

"Perhaps, but I'm not the one who's chained to a wall. Stop avoiding the question, Colonel Solo."

Solo leaned against the wall. "Maybe Sanar helped me out of a tight spot. Or maybe I'm just messing with your head."

His eyebrows met in a glower. "I'm warning you, Solo." Then, sceptically, and as if he was hating every word, "How did you know Zekk?"

Jaina blinked at the change of subject. "What?"

"How did you meet Zekk?"

Seeing no harm in it, she answered, "We were friends as children."

Devnos' eyes bugged, but then he stilled. "He turned to prove himself. To you."

Was that where this was going? To Zekk's weakness? "Maybe. Maybe not," she said defiantly.

As he marched out of the room, Jaina thought she heard him mutter, "Unbelievable."

Then she wondered why he hadn't loosed the ysalamiri on her again.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar hadn't been able to make the journey from Devnos' office to her room yet, so she was currently lying on the hover-couch, recovering her strength. Devnos watched her for a moment, thinking.

He wished…

Devnos wished a lot of things.

"How are you feeling?"

Her eyes opened a little more with each attempt. "Hunh?"

"I asked how you're feeling."

She struggled to sit, then gave up with a sigh. "I'm dying. How…the hell do you think I feel?" Her breath came out, then slowly back in. "You'd tell me if – if you were poisoning me, right? I mean, then you could brag."

_It isn't me._ But he would never be able to say it, if the words would jeopardize Falat's mission. Instead, Devnos sat with his back against the hover-couch, the air below it tickling his back. "You know me, Sanar – always making things difficult."

"I used to like you."

He didn't reply.

"What do you think Daddy would say now, if he was here?" Sanar's voice was very soft, and Devnos couldn't decide whether or not she wanted an answer.

_If he was here, we wouldn't be in this mess_, he replied silently. _Not you, anyway._ "You're the one most like him – you tell me."

She laughed, but the sound was quieter than a breath. "Devnos, haven't you figured it out yet? We're the galaxy's joke. Both of us. We aren't like anyone normal, let alone anyone good."

Silence stepped between them – or maybe she only pushed the years away. Devnos hadn't felt so far, or so close, to his sister in a long time. "We've made a good run of the joke, though, haven't we? Thirty years."

With a quiet shuffling, Sanar propped herself up on an elbow and poked his shoulder. When he turned around, she shook her head. "You did, anyway."

"It all evens out – quantity and quality."

Hesitation, then, "Why do you hate me?"

Devnos let the question hang in the air for several long minutes. "I don't," he whispered finally.

Sanar never cried, that Devnos knew of; that the tears now pooled in her eyes warned him of her mortal danger. Of his weakness. Of his constant failure. "Then why?"

"There is no such thing as love, Sanar," he said slowly, repeating his words from a week ago. "Not for people like us." _Not for me._

Quiet blared in his ears, unbroken by anything other than their breathing. When Sanar ended the silence, he breathed a sigh of relief. "It's so cold," she murmured.

Remembering his goal, Devnos stood, but made no move to retrieve a blanket for his sister. There was only so much that **IT** would allow. "You're a fighter," he named her. "Don't take anything lying down; you never have before."

"There's a first time for everything."

"But not today." He watched her, memorized the contrast in her face – skin that had once been tanned, but was now white against her dark eyes and lips. Hers was not the visage of one destined. It was one that looked death in the face. Maybe the two were the same, now.

But Devnos would fight beyond death to make sure it wasn't.

"Not today."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Accepted._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar had been too hot – then too cold; hallucinating – then nearly blind. Lost her depth perception, her mind. Most of what she lost was returned, if sporadically, but her sanity was more than up for questioning.

So maybe she imagined the conversation. Maybe Devnos hadn't tried to warn her. But she liked to think that maybe he had. That maybe the past years' cruelty was just another nightmare.

It was nice to pretend, as Death began to wrap its arms around her.

Such a relief, a comfort.

Sanar wouldn't forget it.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"_Hurt him. Hurt him to save him. There's no other way. …We're creatures of the underworld. We can't afford to love."_

- Harold Zilder, "Moulin Rouge!"

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	46. Ch28: Falat's Holy Work

_Okay, just a few reminders before we start:_

_1) Na'Lein'yhpaon (a.k.a. NLY) is Sanar and Devnos' home planet  
2) Rafintair is the dictator of NLY. He was also the one who created Pucijir's Order.  
3) Pucijir is Rafintair's god.  
4) Holy Brothers. You remember them? Big, bad assassins from NLY, some of whom are currently after Sanar? No? Well, I just clarified it.  
5) I note this in the chapter, but just to clarify it: Jarran is Sanar's father._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Falat's Holy Work**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Falat couldn't believe he hadn't seen it before. It was all so…typical. So weak. So Devnos.

The traitor was protecting his sister.

Although the Holy Brother was unsure of _why_ the niftyax was so important, he had seen the desperate comprehension in Devnos' eyes. There was something about this…_woman_…that was important. Something important enough to keep Klis fighting his programming, struggling to buck the Truth-inducer. Potions weakened his resolve, sent Klis hurtling into his precious Dark side, but the guilt… It had to be stopped.

Devnos Klis, like his father, had to be broken.

And, as with the rebel leader, the answer lay within the family.

Falat was going to enjoy watching Sanar die. For years, the treacherous Klis family had been a thorn in the side of Na'Lein'yhpaon, and of Pucijir's Order. A thorn that kept digging – that should have been a mere annoyance, but managed to cause too much trouble. It had all started with Jarran.

Well, Jarran was dead, as was his rebellion. The wife had never been a problem – neither had the younger daughter. They were watched, occasionally whipped back into line, but were otherwise ignored. Devnos was next to useless. With Sanar's death, Devnos would cease to be any threat. If there was a husk of him left when his only goal was ash, Falat would be surprised.

Besides. The _niftyax_ had murdered the High Priest Horaire. As arrogant as her father, she had mocked Rafintair's – Pucijir's, by the heavens! – Order.

_For your crimes, you will die slowly, Sanar Klis. And your brother will drown in the blood he watches seep from your corpse._

With a malicious grin, Falat drew his broad sword, revelling in the way the metal sang in the air.

Devnos Klis had wanted to protect his sister. Therefore, the poison could not work fast enough.

No one could stop Falat's Holy work.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

After Devnos left, it took her several minutes to realize that she was looking at the room in which Solo was being held. Sanar stared at the door for a moment, then at the control panel nearby. She could deactivate the locking mechanism, she bet. It couldn't be _that_ difficult, after all – poison or no poison.

But why should she care? It was only Solo. And Jaina Solo always got off scot-free. She had a devoted lover, a caring family, two handfuls of useful talents, and more lives than a leprini. All of those would save her.

What did Sanar have? A body that was wasting away. A brother she would never again be able to understand. A beloved she saw only in her dreams. Guilt. No more time for redemption. And Durron, whom she had assumed had taken on the role of her guardian angel (_heroes are all the same_), was missing in action.

But…then again, Solo _had_ come to bust Sanar out. Did that count for something? If she was going with the redemption gig, even if her time was pretty much out, did Solo's intentions matter more than before?

Sanar could count her friends on one hand. She had no experience with comradeship. But even she realized that if someone helped you, you were supposed to return the favour. Or you were supposed to feel the need to do so, anyway.

Slowly, she swung her feet down to the ground. Her eyes stayed on the wall before her for a minute. With an abrupt movement born of decision, she stood and took the three steps.

Then her challenge came: finding out which button would open the door. Her hand hit a blue circle, which only made a whirring noise as a concealing sheet of plaster raised to display a viewing window. Sanar cocked her head, rubbed her aching temples, and considered the other, various switches.

One of them had to deactivate the locking mechanism, right?

The woman groaned, and then, suddenly, the world lost its colour. The skin of her fingers tingled, and she stared at them. Sluggishly, she rubbed them together.

When her head snapped up, her dark eyes were wide.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

As Falat watched, Sanar convulsed, and cried out. He wondered if it was from the poison. But he had watched her, and, before, she had always gone limp when the delusions came. Now, her movements were jerky – sharp, even.

"No, no, no," he heard her cry softly. "Don't…not…" Then her breath came in a sharp burst, which was followed by a short puff back out. "No…"

Falat felt a clinical interest. Several months ago, Devnos had told him that Sanar had special gifts. Was this one of them? For a brief second, he almost wondered if there was a way she could be exploited for Rafintair. Then he dismissed it.

As if any woman could ever be used for a Holy Purpose beyond breeding – which Sanar had reportedly fought.

Still. One did not attack – even if it was only a _niftyax_ – without understanding all components of the setting.

Just for a moment, he relaxed his stance, and watched.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Look out! Sanar! Look out!_

**Dying, bleeding, falling, wounding.**

_No! Don't listen to that!_

She listened. She watched.

_He's coming! Look out! Behind you!_

**Clayra crying, Gantik falling, Braun screaming, blood, so much blood.**

_The one who would kill you! Sanar, look out! He has come!_

"**Your destiny is – "**

**NO.**

Sanar fell to her knees, clutching her head, releasing a cry. Ever dimly, she realized that the Strings were trying to warn her, but they had never contacted her without a vision before. Her mind was being flooded with images now – images they didn't want her to see.

_BEHIND YOU!_

"**Don't you understand, Sanar? For it to succeed, you must – "**

**NO.**

_Let me_. The new voice settled her, wrapped around her, comforted her fried senses. _Don't watch the fire, Sanar. It will burn you._

"I don't…I don't know how…" Never before had she blocked the visions. Not once, in her entire life. And she hadn't even _seen_ one since Jaina's death, and then years before that.

_Focus. Concentrate on me._

She tried. She really did. Every last speck of her mind fought it, as if it was permanently glued to the images and sounds that flew before her.

Then she noticed how familiar the voice was. It wasn't her beloved, but… She _did_ know him.

His name slid off her tongue, but she couldn't hear it.

_Yes,_ he replied. _It's me. Concentrate, Sanar._

Where was she supposed to start? He was everywhere. Her hands curled into fists as she pulled herself to her feet. Her hair swung in her face. Her eyes stayed closed.

Thinking only on the voice.

Who was it? Sanar wanted to know. Maybe her beloved had some kind of inner cold, and it altered his mind's voice? But that was insane. Almost, she thought, as nutty as she was becoming.

Before she could start berating herself for lunacy, the voice drew her attention, and she realized that she had forgotten about the visions. _Exactly. Good job, Sanar. Now, listen to me. The man who is poisoning you is a Holy Brother…and he's right behind you. Don't move yet!_

She stopped just before she made any noticeable movements. "What…who…?"

_You can't fight him. You're too weak right now._

Her temper flared, but died faster than her cry of pain did when her headache worsened dramatically, abruptly.

_On the console, do you see the black square on the left?_

Sanar's gaze found the button slowly, and she nodded absently. "Yes…"

_It will unlock Jaina's cell. She should have worked her way out of her confinements by now. Let her out, and she'll take care of it._

"Damn heroes."

The person in her head laughed. _Maybe, Sanar. Okay…now! Push it now!_

Her finger shot up and jammed against the unlocking button so hard that she had to lash back and cradle her slim appendage. "Great," she muttered as the door hissed open, "even buttons are getting kicks out of hurting me, now…"

"It won't hurt for long," someone growled from behind her, and she turned to see Falat, just before he shoved her into the wall.

"_Falat_?" she said, stunned, blinking rapidly as his form multiplied. "Oh, Larifx, how many of you are there…" She tried to swat one of the five Falats, and only felt the world spin around her again.

"Just take a seat, Sanar," a familiar voice said, crashing the conversation. To punctuate the words, a heeled boot flew up, catching each of the Falats in the chin, and sending him to stumble back. When she had renewed her focus, Sanar realized that the boot belonged to none other than Jaina Solo.

"I don't feel so good," Sanar moaned in agreement, walking carefully to the couch.

Jaina lent her a steadying hand until Sanar was situated, then she flipped backwards, just in time to miss a swipe of Falat's broad sword. Sanar ducked, but thought she still felt a few hairs being liberated from her head. A few seconds later, Jaina backhanded Falat hard, punched him in the gut, and pushed him in the opposite direction of Sanar.

"Why don't you stay out of this?" Falat growled, renewing his attack stance as he watched Jaina.

The Jedi brought her fists up by her face, making sure to stay between the Holy Brother and Sanar. "Why the hell should I, _puzilts_?"

Falat swung his sword, making Jaina duck. "This is not your fight, off-worlder."

"You're the one who's off-world, you son-of-a-Hutt." Heedless of the blade's sharp edge, Jaina reached up and grabbed Falat's sword with both hands. Twisting it out of the assassin's hands, she threw it across the room. The weapon sang as it cut through the air before it imbedded itself in the wall with a thunk. "And leave the sharp edges out of it. Unless you're too much of a coward to fight a _niftyax_, with your 'supreme strength' and all?"

He landed a sharp kick to her side, and she tumbled into a backwards somersault, coming up winded but very much the daughter of a smuggler. "You Solos are more trouble than you're worth."

Jaina smirked cockily. "Even the women?"

"Nuisances."

For his insult, she broke his nose with a well-aimed punch, and spun into a side kick that sent Falat to the other side of the room. "How's that for feminine weakness?" she sneered as she stalked over to him.

Before he had time to recover, she banged his head down on the wooden floor. "You make me sick." When he twisted to kick her in the head, she rolled, bringing him along for the ride, only to stop when he was firmly beneath her. Straddling his waist, Jaina's fists flew until Falat's gave up on trying to jolt, kick or punch her off.

"You won't stop us." He spat the words and a tooth.

Just for that, she boxed his ears. "Oh, I think I will."

"Killing me…won't save – Sanar."

_This guy just doesn't know when to quit._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Devnos recognized the sounds of a fight, and stayed away for as long as he could. If Solo wasn't out and trying to be a hero by now, then he and Sanar were utterly helpless. And he didn't want to see Sanar die.

Eventually, however, he ambled over to the main room of his ship. He arrived just in time to see Solo whacking Falat's head – repeatedly – against the hard floor.

**_He is your brother, Devnos Klis. Stop her. Stop her _now_, if you know what's good for you!_**

Devnos watched in a dream as his hand moved down to grab Solo's collar. With a swift movement, he hauled the Jedi right off of Falat. "That's enough, Solo," he heard himself say, mechanically. **IT** kept his grip on Solo's arm as solid as if his fingers were made of durocrete. "That's quite enough."

Solo moved to elbow him, but Devnos caught her arm before it could make contact. Glaring up at him, she settled for saying, "You're a little late. Guess you'll need a new apprentice, Devy-boy."

Devnos returned her glare with an impassive look. "He is replaceable."

Falat gurgled, bringing the attention back to him. "But…your sister…isn't," he choked out, his face ugly with sadism.

Devnos' breathing slowed. From her couch, Sanar's head raised a little, her dazed eyes resting on Falat. Solo went cold.

The Strings waited, quivering, uncertain.

"Meaning, Falat?"

The Holy Brother loosed a chilling, gurgling laugh on his audience. "No antidote now, Klis… No time left."

"You were the one to poison Sanar." Devnos spoke the words for the first time, Falat's loose tongue freeing him from his silence. Too late – of course. Too late to try to stop it, or to warn anyone.

But could Solo do anything with this information?

_I might have to let you go, after all, Solo._

"…O' course." Falat shouldered his way up onto one elbow so that he could take in the wide-eyed spectators with a leer. "Rafintair never…lets an enemy go."

"She was pardoned."

Sanar was sitting upright now, staring at Falat with more focus than Devnos had thought she still possessed. She began to say something, but Devnos couldn't catch it. She tried again, louder this time, but in a voice that was only above a whisper. "That's not it. That's not why you…"

Devnos looked down, and his gaze met the top of Solo's head. The Jedi was Sanar's height, but her hair was too light to fool Sanar's brother. The woman he was restraining may as well have been from another dimension – another _universe_, for that matter. _She_ had probably never lived with the cold, plodding pain that dogged the Klis family.

She probably didn't even have a prophecy to fulfill.

"Why is Rafintair so determined to kill me?" Sanar's voice sounded calm, but Devnos knew the look in her eyes. It was the wild, reckless glaze that had killed Horaire, and had seen visions.

For the first time, Falat's condescending glare faltered, and he glanced over at Devnos before smirking in realization. "She doesn't have a clue, does she, Klis?" And the Holy Brother laughed. He was choking on his blood, almost blind from the damage he had sustained from Solo, but he understood that he had won. "Too late to save the _niftyax_ now, isn't it, Devnos?"

From Devnos' nerveless fingers, Solo broke free. Blurred with speed, she retrieved Falat's sword from the wall and brought the tip down, right into its owner's heart.

Devnos didn't even try to stop her; he could only stare at those eyes – wide with triumph – and the blood that gushed free of its warden.

_Too late._

For everything.

It was…it had all been for…

Nothing.

Jaina Solo stood over the body of her sister's would-be murderer, heedless of the blood that dripped from the sword she held again, or of the soulless silence that had filled the room. "It is _never_ too late."

But tears rushed to her eyes, and she couldn't look at Sanar.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	47. Ch29: Musings of Death and Impending

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Musings of Death and Impending Madness**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina wasn't surprised when she found herself cuffed and thrown back into her cell without a word. Not only had she made a nuisance of herself by escaping, but she had killed a Dark Jedi. Another one.

No. She had killed lots of Dark Jedi, Nightsisters, enemy pilots, even a few civilians who got out of hand and rioted, or tried to fight in a war that wasn't theirs. Jaina knew the price of killing an enemy.

That there was unmistakeable gratitude – and pleading? – in Devnos' eyes, however, caught her attention even through her lead senses.

Devnos had known – had _ensured_, even – that Jaina could escape. He must have seen the blinking of her hacking job on her stun-cuff's deactivation series, no matter how careful Jaina had been. No one was that blind – certainly, Devnos wasn't. In the same way that the line between Jaina and Sanar could sometimes blur, so, too, could the difference between their separate families become foggy.

Jaina knew Devnos' favourite dish, his nervous habits, and the difference between ActingDevnos and the genuine article.

Devnos was acting.

Jaina wondered if Sanar had enough perspective to see it.

Could Sanar, when Devnos curled his lip at her, see the way his eyes became blank? Or how, when he insulted her, his gaze was ashamed? Jaina knew Sanar didn't notice – or understand – the worry in Devnos' movements.

No. Of course she couldn't see it. Sanar couldn't perceive anything beyond the betrayal, or the hurt. Maybe even Jaina couldn't view the whole extent of it. Devnos had hurt her sister. Badly. Repeatedly. In a way that had nothing to do with physical beatings. Jaina couldn't forgive that.

But Devnos had known that Sanar was in danger, and he had wiggled out of his role long enough to make sure that Jaina had the freedom to do what she had come to do: protect and rescue Sanar.

It was all quite close to being incomprehensible. Why would Devnos need to act? On Na'Lein'yhpaon, of course, Jaina could readily see the need. Everyone had their own role. Sanar was the _niftyax_ – the rebellious fighter, Jarran's corrupted legacy. Clayra let others protect her; Caesarea adapted to her surroundings' beliefs and prejudices. And Devnos…Devnos was the in-control convertee.

But Sanar, for all her hatred and bitterness, was letting go of her role. Why hadn't Devnos, when it so obviously pained him, done the same with relief?

//_"How's the head, Devnos?"_//

Jaina had been playing with him. A better word for "head" might have been "conscience". But it had meant something else entirely to Sanar's brother.

_Note to self: interrogate it out of him when Zekk comes_.

"You're playing with things you can never understand," a voice rumbled.

Jaina's head shot up as she scanned her make-shift cell. Other than the ysalamiri, she was alone. "Really?" she tested.

"Unravel a thread, and the whole tapestry comes loose – as it must. But this mystery is not yours to realize."

It could only be someone from beyond the River, but she had the strangest feeling that she knew the speaker. Or maybe… "Is it _Sanar's_?"

There was no direct response, but the voice said, "This is intricately woven. Don't play games, or take on someone else's part – you could destroy everything."

"Thanks for the – " She felt the presence leave " – vote of confidence."

"Talking to yourself, are you?"

Jaina started, then cocked a sassy eyebrow at the ghost before her. "Well, you know, because I haven't had a social life since you up and abandoned me for Sanar…"

Kyp's mouth grinned cockily, but his eyes did not reflect the playfulness. "You know how it is – stick around until someone prettier and more disturbed comes along. Besides, you don't need me anymore. Well," he amended, looking at her chains, "not like you used to."

"No need to worry about me. I'm rather attached to the whole my-boyfriend-is-my-hero thing. I mean, I refuse to be some damsel-in-distress, but it _is_ kind of nice, once in a while. Besides, Zekk could use the boost."

Kyp groaned. "I'd forgotten what it's like to listen in on 'girl talk'."

"Sanar just doesn't refer to her soul mate like that, does she?"

"If she has a soul mate, she'll kill him for playing the hero too late."

Jaina settled back against the wall, her expression becoming grim. "Yeah, well, the least he could do is show up before…" She couldn't say the words. _Before she dies_.

Jaina had crossed that path, true. She knew that death wasn't something to be frightened of, but… _Sanar deserves more from life_.

"I can't reach her," Kyp admitted quietly. "Oh, on and off, but lately… I haven't been able to do anything but watch – if that. She's fading."

_And with her, Kyp's strongest anchor to this world._ "Did you see the fight with Falat?" she asked.

Judging by the way he said, "Falat? What?" he hadn't.

"Devnos' apprentice turned out to be a…Holy Brother." The title slid from her Sanar-part to Jaina's tongue without immediate understanding.

Kyp frowned. "A what?"

"Kind of like an Imperial Guard-turned-assassin from Na'Lein'yhpaon," she explained. "Apparently, Sanar killed the wrong priest back home." Jaina paused, then said, "That was the official explanation, anyway. I think Devnos and Falat knew of other reasons than just Horaire's death. Maybe it had something to do with – Sanar's dad."

Kyp digested this possibility slowly, and only spoke a few minutes later. "How is she?"

Jaina stalled. "You mean Sanar?"

"Obviously." Kyp looked irritated, but the live Jedi chalked his crankiness up as a cover for his worry.

"Unless we can find an antidote for Falat's poison, Sanar is dying. Which means Zekk needs to hurry up." She sighed. "If I had known we have a deadline, I would have kept the lines of communication open."

Kyp rolled his eyes. "Don't tell me you treated this like some kind of game. Please."

"I wanted some time to kick Devnos' butt," Jaina said petulantly. "Did you know he put a price on my head to get to Zekk? He _put a price on my head_ – but not for me! I've turned into some…get-the-guy, damsel-in-distress-as-bait! Can you believe it? _Me_."

The ghost looked at her as if she was insane. "Jaina, if I ever find a way to miraculously retake physical form, remind me to throttle you."

She glared. "Be nice, or I won't punch Devnos for you. And I'll tell Sanar that – that you sleep with a stuffed Ewok."

He raised an eyebrow.

"Well," she back-pedalled, "that you _did_. Before you, you know, died."

"One: Baboo was a joke. Remember? You were the one who gave him to me as a gag present when you were twelve. Two: he wasn't stuffed, because you decided to operate on him. Baboo was never the same. And three: Sanar doesn't care how I sleep – or slept."

"Oh, don't tell me she'd pass up on material for mocking you," Jaina teased, grinning.

Abruptly, Kyp dropped into brooding mode. "She might not get a chance to."

The corners of Jaina's mouth turned upwards in something resembling amusement. "The Force, for reasons unknown, assigned you to Sanar as some kind of guardian. If – when – she dies, the two of you could very well spend eternity together. I mean, who knows how long the Force scheduled the two of you to be together?" She perked up. "Hey, I ought to just tell her that; she'll stay alive for sure, then."

"Thanks, Jay."

She batted her eyes. "You're welcome. Now get going."

"Did we plan something?" Kyp asked, eyeing her with faint confusion.

"You're going to tell Zekk where I am, and to hurry up. You know, so we have a hope of saving Sanar. Now, shoo, messenger boy. Oh, and play nice with Zekk, okay? I mean it. I can wander around the River long enough to beat you up, if you're a brat."

Kyp grumbled something that sounded like "yes, mother", then disappeared.

Jaina's face crumpled into worry. _Hold on, Sanar_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar's eyes made Devnos want to scream. How could they just stare ahead, lost, appalled, desperate, and not be proof of coming madness?

He knew the truth, though: it would have been better if she _was_ going mad. She would have been in less pain that way. Instead, the only thing wrong with her was that she knew she was dying, and that even if it wasn't because of the poison, it was only a matter of time. The Holy Brothers had marked her, and Rafintair was determined enough to send his men off-planet. It was that serious.

_But they didn't know_ how_ serious_, Devnos thought, in an attempt to cheer himself.

"I'm going to bed," Sanar muttered in his general direction. She stood, but only stared at her bare feet. "I can't…" She sighed, and it seemed that in that action, everything swooshed out of her. Just like that, her strength disappeared. For a second, she wobbled as if she would fall, and Devnos could only watch, imprinting every sway into his mind.

Then she gathered herself together, and one foot went in front of the other, and the other dragged so that her feet were again side by side. Right foot, left foot, right, left, until she was at her door. Sanar leaned against the doorway for a second, and whispered something.

"Did you say something, Sanar?" Devnos asked, his throat completely dry.

Her head swivelled to him, then dropped. "It's just… Nothing."

She looked up again to study him, her eyes unsettlingly bright, and Devnos tensed. Any minute, he thought, she would see through it all. She would realize the vastness of what was happening, and the truth of…everything. His gaze dropped then snapped back up to her twice, as if he wanted her to figure it out.

But then he looked down again, and refused to meet her eyes. What was the point? It had failed. The Strings would just have to manipulate another group of people. Sanar was dying, Devnos was completely unable to do _anything_ to help, and the other… Without Sanar, he would never show.

Devnos had failed.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar turned and took ten small steps before she stopped in front of her bed, but then she reconsidered. Why should she sleep? In a few days, or weeks – who knew how long she had? – she would have all the rest anyone could ever need. So, instead, she sat on the floor, leaning against her bed.

_I don't want to die._

She had seen death before. She had felt it, and she had even coaxed someone out of it. Sanar knew about the River, about the joy that could accompany death – and she knew that she could easily fall for it. Her father was dead, as was her uncle, and several of her friends. With death would come seeing them again.

_Daddy_.

What _wouldn't_ she give to see him again? When he had been exiled to Carida, everyone had been relieved that he wasn't executed; everyone had thought he was safe. But, apparently, Rafintair and his soldiers had not realized the extent of Jarran Klis' part in the NLY Rebellion. And so he had been exiled to a place where the only job was to work like a beast.

Sanar missed him more than anything – that had never changed, even over the years. Perhaps it was only her latching onto the one person who had never betrayed her, the only one who she could depend on without repercussions, but…

It should have been a comfort, then, as she came to the knowledge that she was dying. That she had been right about the poison, that Devnos had known, and that Falat's mission had succeeded even though he died. She was going to see her father again. She wouldn't have to be strong, or defiant, or the one who knew what they were doing, anymore. Someone else would have to take that role, while she could just…be.

But she didn't want to die – not anymore. And so, if it came to that, Sanar doubted she would be able to accept the ignorant joy that came of letting go of life.

And what if she didn't go to the Light side of the River?

//_Horaire's bright, blank, dead eyes stared back at her as realization of what she had done swept over her._//

Sanar looked at her hands miserably, then hugged her knees to her. She didn't deserve a heaven. She wasn't a hero, and never had been.

But was it too much to hope that she didn't deserve a literal Hell, either?

Her eyes shut, and when she opened them again, she had resolved to put it aside. She would find out soon enough what she deserved. Meanwhile, she reached under her pillow and took out Devnos' book. The stories did not, perhaps, hold the richness of Devnos' voice when he had told Sanar the tales, but they were all she had. All there was to remind her of the brother Devnos had once been.

_Where did he go?_

She brushed the thought aside even as it formed in her mind. Did it matter why Devnos had changed? No. All that mattered was that he had. And that, in doing so, he had left her alone.

Her fingers traced the lettering on the book's cover before she opened it. A few of the pages hung out of the loose binding, but she pushed them back in. "Just last a little longer," she whispered. "No one will need you for comfort when I die."

_When I die._

The book had opened to the story of Peraq and the Quest for Truth. The pages in this section were not as worn down as some of them were, partly because it struck a chord, and somewhat because it didn't. Peraq had found the truth and redemption she had been looking for. Sanar had only looked – in vain.

Despite herself, Sanar flipped the pages to the end of the short story. Maybe she needed to reassure herself that there really was redemption, and it was just another failure on her part that she had not found it.

_When the celebration was at its most joyous, Peraq left for the gardens. In her hands, she held the box containing Wickle's hair. She stopped in front of the rose bush and its thorns. This was what needed to be done._

_She waited until the wind began, and then, slowly, she opened the box, and the wind picked up the black strands, scattering them amongst the bushes. Peraq was quiet as her brother's spirit was laid to rest. "May your death be more peaceful than your life," whispered she._

_But that was not all she was there for; there was more to be said. Peraq cleared her throat, and thought of the ones who had tried to enslave her. "Ma kitcha," she said bravely. "M'alo keena. M'vari nonna la-kul-eil." And with a sharp nod, she turned away and walked to her future._

Sanar stared at the words, silently translating them into Basic. _I am strong. I have survived. I am not yours anymore_.

She would never be able to honestly say those words, now.

_I don't want to die._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Why can't you ever make anything easy, Jaina?_ Zekk wondered. True, it was one of the things he loved about her, but planning a rescue when she had closed her end of their bond was rather difficult. And he had the nagging suspicion that Sanar needed help. Soon.

"Feel anything yet?" Garik asked, seeing Zekk rub his temples. The diplomat had joined them at a call from Cerasy. Leia, on the other hand, had been talked into resting, as the doctor had ordered.

"Nothing. Either she's still blocking me, or Devnos is using ysalamiri."

"That blocks you?" Cerasy said, frowning.

"If the bond is already blanketed at the time when the Ysalamiri are introduced, yes," Zekk explained wearily. "We're going to need another way to find her."

Garik sighed. "Someone remind me to take that girl apart when she comes back…"

"Sure – if there's anything left of her when I'm finished," Miko growled.

Krista shrugged. "Don't forget to rip Jaina apart, Garik." She grinned widely.

"Thanks, Krista," Garik said dryly. "Maybe tell me when she's actually back?"

The blonde's eyelashes batted flirtatiously, and Miko rolled his eyes before sinking further into his chair. Zekk raised an eyebrow.

"Anyway," Krista said, "shouldn't she just be around…Tirith? That's where she disappeared to, after all."

"They could be anywhere by now," Cerasy explained impatiently. "You know that."

"Well, duh," Krista shot back. "But with nothing else to go on… Um, does no one else see how 'Tirith! Let's go!' makes sense?"

Miko patted her arm. "As soon as we're sure we don't have anything else, Kris. Okay?"

She swatted his hand back. "I'm not a kid," she groused. "Don't pat my hand like that."

The red-haired man grinned and leaned back in his chair. "Sorry, Kris," he murmured, eyes gleaming devilishly.

The others watched in amusement as Krista blushed. "Well… You know," the blonde muttered, flipping her hair. "There are just so many who make that assumption."

Miko's eyes darkened unexpectedly, and he looked down. "Right."

"Could we get back to Jaina now?" Cerasy asked, breaking up the strange drama between Miko and Krista.

"I have to agree with Cerasy," Kyp's voice broke in.

Kip's head shot up, and he regarded the man who had been used to make him. Zekk thought the clone looked embarrassed. "Hello, Kyp Durron," the replica said, sounding exactly - but nothing – like Kyp.

Kyp looked at Kip with an unidentifiable emotion in his eyes, then refocused on the group. "Jaina and Sanar are both being held on Devnos' ship, which is docked in the middle of Tirith's smaller desert."

"What are the defences?" Cerasy asked crisply, folding her arms over her chest.

"Devnos' apprentice, Falat, is dead; that leaves Devnos to fight you."

Zekk frowned. "Sounds easy."

Kyp threw him a glare. "Well, then, you won't mind hurrying up."

Uncomfortable, Kip shuffled a few pieces of flimsi. "I – is there anything else that we should know?"

The ghost looked ruffled by his clone's presence, but he recovered within minutes. "Sanar's situation is dire," he worried. "We need to get her to a med-centre quickly, and find an antidote for Falat's poison."

"What kind of time period are we talking about?" Miko asked practically, tapping a pen against the desk.

Kyp shrugged miserably. "A few days – a week, at most."

Zekk considered this for a moment. "We'll jet off immediately. Garik, you had best stay here; no offence, but you aren't exactly the fighting type." He eyed Kip for a moment. "Kip, maybe you should stay here, too. You don't look so good."

Kip didn't bother to fight the decision, and Kyp watched him with faint alarm.

"Cerasy, Miko, Krista – pack up enough for a day or two, but hurry up about it. We leave in an hour." The named three began to pack up noisily, and Zekk turned to Kyp. "How's Jaina?" he asked.

"She's better than when you left," Kyp replied sharply. But Jaina's warning rang through his mind, and he finished, "She'll be okay. I have the feeling everyone's a little too wrapped up in Sanar's problems to think too much about Jaina."

Then Kyp was gone.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	48. Ch30: Screams and Whispers

**Chapter Thirty: Screams and Whispers**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_I'm so sick of speaking words that no one understands  
Is it clear enough that you can't live your whole life all alone?  
I can hear you in a whisper, but you can't even hear me screaming_  
- "Where Will You Go" by Evanescence

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"I thought you were going to get some rest."

Sanar looked up from the floor, where she had curled against the bed with her blanket wrapped around her shoulders. "I'll be getting plenty of that soon enough, don't you think?"

She wondered at how deeply Devnos flinched. "Don't talk like that," he ordered sternly, but she thought she saw his lip quiver as he spoke.

"Like what? Like I'm going to die? Like, in a short while, I'll be ejected into space because you don't care enough to bury or cremate me? Like your apprentice didn't _poison_ me, for no good reason? Like what, Devnos?" she yelled, nearing hysteria. "Like _what_?"

He stared at her, shutting down his insides, as if that could stop the pain.

When he didn't answer, she gave a snort of disgust, only to follow it with a worn sigh. "I can't see reality in colour right now, Devnos. Thanks to your apprentice, it's black, white, grey, or the red of someone's blood splattered against the wall. Or Clayra's hair against Horaire's vest. Or…or Daddy."

To that, he had no reply that could be spoken.

"Damn. It." Sanar growled, dragging herself up so that she stood, her wobbly legs pressed against the bed for support as she glared up at her brother. "Just tell me why, Devnos. That's all I want. I just want to know why two Holy Brothers – already – have tried to kill me. Clear that up, and I'll leave you to ignore my death in peace."

Devnos heard his heart break in two. _Ignore her death in peace, my eye._

"You killed a High Priest," he began awkwardly, hating how time continued on. How every second was a second wasted.

"'She doesn't have a clue, does she, Klis?' That's what Falat said when I asked why he was coming after me. You _know_ something – some reason for why…why…"

Sanar's dark eyes pleaded with him for answers. Devnos looked away. "Horaire is the reason."

She cursed, and he had the feeling she had learned some of those words from Solo. "I am going to die," Sanar hissed, "and you won't even tell me why. **_Why?_**"

"There is also our family," he offered weakly, unable to look at her now, but even more unable to look away. "They want to crush you because you never let go of Father."

She snorted in disgust, then moved away from the bed. The wall was her new support as she shuffled to the side of the room. "I am so _sick_ of all your secrecy and lies," she whispered fiercely. "Devnos, I deserve to know why Rafintair thinks I'm important enough to die on a Brother's blade!" Her breath came heavy and with difficulty as she glowered at him.

He kept his silence, **IT** surging against, and negating every response he wanted to make. Every comfort, and even every movement, remained only in his mind. _I'm so very sorry, Sanar. You can't even imagine._

She raised her head proudly, even as her skin was too pale, and her lips stood against her face in an almost gothic contrast. "Fine, then. If you won't tell me, I'm leaving – and I'm taking my sister with me." She didn't stop to consider the new title she had given Jaina. "And you…you can just rot in _Hell_," Sanar spat.

He watched her morosely, unable to stop anything.

"I don't care," she told him, her eyes bright. "I – I don't – " Sanar faltered, her eyes becoming dazed and wandering. "I…_ahh_…" Her bones dissolved and she fell in a heap.

Instinctively, he moved to catch her, but then the pain struck. Lightning erupted in his brain, making him cry out. From past experience, Devnos immediately connected this pain with **IT**, but it was the Strings that whispered in his mind.

_You promised us your eyes._

They had a point.

Devnos fainted.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista had suggested that Zekk literally kick the door down – something about it being "sexy". The former Sith apprentice, however, had taken one look at the metal, well-enforced door, and dryly suggested that they try something else. Preferably a plan of action that would let him walk away without knee surgery.

Pouting her disappointment, Krista had nevertheless surrendered. Instead, she and Miko had set to hacking into the security console. Zekk could hear them murmuring softly, working with the ease of two people well-used to each other.

He had to admit, Miko's plan of 'attack' was working significantly better than that of most men Krista came in contact with. _I wonder what he plans for her brothers?_ The dark-haired man shook his head. Miko would have to deal with more than just that, first; he probably had some time yet.

Zekk gestured for Cerasy's attention. "What do you think?" he asked, nodding to the hunched figures. "Wedding bells in a year?"

The bounty hunter scowled at him, tapping her blaster pointedly, but shook her head. "This took four years. Miko's got quite the road ahead of him."

"Well, yeah, but by now Krista – "

Cerasy rolled her eyes. "Krista is, and always will be, a flirt. Miko never reacted to her advances when they first met, so she lost interest. Right now, she couldn't admit she 'likes-likes' him if her life depended on it. Why should she give up her freedom?"

Zekk snorted incredulously. "But if she loves him – "

The red-haired woman shook her head vehemently. "She's just a flirt. A bubblehead, even. Miko turned to – and away from – the Dark side. He's looking for something a little more permanent than one of Krista's make-out encounters." Cerasy folded her arms over her chest. "Did you know her longest romantic relationship was two months?" She snorted in disgust. "Nah. It'll be a while yet."

"Oh." He frowned, but let it go. "Do you think they're almost done?"

Cerasy's forehead creased. "What?"

"With the hacking."

She blinked, then abruptly strode toward Miko and Krista. "Coming through," she said briskly, moving Krista out of her way. A few seconds and a spark later, the door hissed open, and Cerasy shrugged. "Why were we being careful, again?" she mused to no one in particular.

Krista scowled at the bounty hunter. "I wanted to open it! Why'd you spoil my fun? We almost had it!"

Cerasy rolled her eyes and gestured for Zekk to follow her. "Krista, you and Miko would dance around it for hours, just to be around the other, and pretend your motivation was innocent. Now, while you figure that out, Zekk and I will go rescue Jaina and Sanar. Got it? Good." She disappeared into the ship before Krista could protest further.

Zekk followed at a few paces' distance, and was able to hear Krista say indignantly, "What did she meant? 'Pretend our motivations are innocent', indeed! Really! What's her problem? Miko?"

Krista and Miko faded into the background as Zekk entered the lounge, but he knew the two would follow soon. Except for the sound of the team's feet, and Krista's curiosity, the ship was eerily quiet, and Zekk's hackles rose.

This wasn't what they had expected to find, and Zekk's blood chilled. His years as Onyx within the Imperial Court had taught him that silence was worse than any scream, and almost always heralded some kind of ambush or betrayal.

But nothing happened. Devnos didn't jump out of the shadows; no bogey man tried to eat them; there was no display of Jaina's broken body. _What's going on?_ he wondered. Not that Zekk wanted things to go wrong, of course. But…that was how life worked. Or, at least, how _his_ life worked. Everything went wrong.

He trailed into a bedroom, and stopped dead.

Both Sanar and Devnos were lying in a heap on the ground, a few feet separating them. And neither of the siblings' rest looked natural. Sanar was pale and far too thin. Devnos looked only a little better, with clammy skin and a chronic twitch in his left eye, while he swallowed convulsively. "Cerasy!"

With Miko not far behind, the bounty hunter strode into the room, taking in the scene in a glance. "You keep looking for Jaina," she ordered crisply. "Miko and I will take care of these two."

Zekk swallowed, but left the room. Was that how he was going to find Jaina? Unconscious against a wall, appearing dea—

He couldn't think about that, or he would go insane. Shaking off the memories of Jaina's death, he moved briskly down the hall until he found a small lounge. On the other side of the room, through a viewing window, he could see Jaina chained to a wall with her head hanging.

Running the rest of the distance to her, he stopped only to activate the door. "Jaina!"

She stirred and looked up just in time to recognize who had captured her lips in a powerful, relieved kiss. Just as quickly, Zekk pulled away, his eyes flying over her, checking for injuries. "Are you alright? Did he hurt you?"

Shaking off the clouds that came with the kiss, Jaina rattled her chains, bringing them to her boyfriend's attention. "If you'd just let me out of these…" He complied, and she brought her wrists down, rubbing the circulation back into them. "Thanks." Seeing the continued worry in his eyes, she shook her head, smiling. "I'm fine, Zekk. Really. I'm a big girl now, remember?"

His gaze suggested that it had not, at any recent point, slipped from his mind. "That doesn't mean you need to make things more difficult by blanketing our – "

"I love you," she interrupted, smiling sweetly.

He tried to continue his small lecture – really, he did – but… "I love you, too." Leaning down, he kissed her again – this time properly.

A few minutes later, both pulled back reluctantly, catching their breath. Jaina was the first to recover. "If this is the kind of rescue I get, maybe I should get captured more often," she mused dreamily.

He kissed her again, softly. "I don't think so," he murmured back. "For one thing, not everyone is as fortunate as you, and – "

Jaina pulled back abruptly, remembrance making her eyes dark with worry. "Sanar! Is she alright?"

Zekk swallowed and shook his head. Wrapping an arm around her shoulders, he said, "Both she and Devnos were unconscious when we found them. Cerasy and Miko should be moving them into the _Second Chance_ right now."

Jaina followed him out into the lounge. "No. They'd best take Devnos on this ship – whatever it's called – and you, Sanar and I will take the _Second Chance_. Sanar is going to need some fancy Force healing long before we get back to Hapes. Meanwhile, however, this ship is pretty Imperial, so…"

"Everyone else is just ahead of us," he told her, nodding to the ship's entrance.

"Thank you, dear," she teased. Jaina leaned up to quickly kiss him again, then ran ahead to tell the rest how things were going to go down.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kip was just beginning to wonder if he had been left behind solely to keep Princess Leia from committing murder when he felt it.

Lack – stronger than before.

Garik Klamath took over the job of calming Princess Leia almost immediately, not even considering the fact that something might be wrong. After all, Kip was a clone. His every strand of DNA was planned. There was no room for mistakes.

Except, as Kip was discovering, there was.

His mind raced over the possibilities, searching for a reasonable answer. But all he felt was the lack. The incompleteness. The detachment.

Yes, detachment – that was exactly the word for which he was looking.

Kip stood and offered an apology, then went to leave the room. Perhaps some training – or even sleep, although he needed only a few hours of it – would better his situation.

He would never find out. Kip slid into a faint even before he took three steps.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	49. Ch31: Happy Late Birthday, Big Sister

**Chapter Thirty-One: "Happy Late Birthday, Big Sister"**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Cerasy, for her part, had something of a soft spot for Sanar, and Jaina had to talk fast to keep the bounty hunter on Devnos' ship. In the end, Krista provided the perfect excuse.

"So this guy is, like, Sanar's brother?" the blonde checked, cracking her gum. "He's kinda hot. I mean, it's just something about those eyes; and the whole bad boy thing, well…"

Jaina was about to set the record straight when she saw how wide Cerasy's eyes had become. "Just don't let him out of the detention cell, okay, Krista?" the Jedi ordered motherly. "Not even to flirt. Miko hasn't fought against a Dark Jedi recently."

Cerasy's face became pale with horror, and her panicked eyes went to Krista, then to Jaina. "She wouldn't. Would she?"

Jaina's expression was that of perfect innocence, except for the sly gleam in her eye. "Well, I certainly hope not. Could you _imagine_?"

Miko was watching Jaina sceptically, and she winked. Miko could – probably – take Devnos. But _someone_ had to keep an eye on everything. And an eye on something of a more…personal, emotional manner.

"Everyone ready to go?" the former Dark Jedi asked.

Cerasy eyed Miko distrustfully, and Jaina suppressed a grin. Cerasy believed only in her own abilities, and Krista's bubbly air clearly worried her. "I'm coming with you," the bounty hunter said finally.

Krista smiled happily. "Great. We can ogle Devnos together! Just don't tell me what you'll do to him – it'll spoil my fun…"

Miko's face twisted in a mixture of emotions that Jaina couldn't readily identify. "Are you sure you don't want me to come along?" he pleaded as his shipmates headed up the _Assassin_'s ramp.

"Sorry." She shook her head sympathetically. "But I think being on the _Second Chance_ would just freak you out." Seeing him frown in curiosity, she added, "Hang in there."

His head swung around to watch Krista, who was barely containing her customary energy. "I guess."

Jaina finally put two and two together, and rolled her eyes. "Oh, please, Miko. If Zekk and I can make it, you and Krista sure as Hell will."

He looked thrown, then shook his head self-deprecatingly. "I think tragedy actually makes things easier. At least you and Zekk will never be able to let it go without knowing that it's perfect. That it works."

"Does she know?"

Miko looked at her as if she was crazy. "You're joking, right? This is Krista. The second she knew, it would mean absolutely nothing."

"Give her a little credit. And Miko…" Jaina narrowed her eyes. "Give yourself a lifeline. You can't wait around, planning carefully, for the rest of your life. Just lay it out on the table, then let her go from there. I think you might be surprised by her reaction."

Miko changed the subject. "You'd better go. Sanar will need all the help she can get."

Jaina's brown hair swished as she looked up at Zekk's ship. "You're right." Surprising him, she leaned up to quickly kiss him on the cheek, then hugged him tightly. "Tell her, Miko. It'll be okay, either way."

Turning, she sprinted up the _Second Chance_'s ramp.

Krista had turned at the last moment, and seen the quick peck that Jaina so strategically timed. And then she wondered why she stopped when the sight processed. Why her stomach flipped.

But then she shrugged, and pushed it away.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When Jaina stepped into the main lounge, Sanar was draped upon the couch, her forehead beaded with sweat. Zekk was up in the cockpit, preparing for take-off, and Jaina divested Sanar of her heavy wool sweater before strapping the other woman in. All Sanar needed was a ball-sized bump on her forehead from when she rolled off the hover-couch, and to the other side of the room.

She looked up, unsurprised to find Kyp waiting impatiently. "Watch her for me," Jaina ordered before she hurried to the front, where she buckled herself in just in time to avoid flying back into the lounge. When the hyperspace jump was complete, Jaina all but ripped the crash webbing off. "So, how much do you know about healing?" Jaina asked dryly as she and Zekk kneeled beside Sanar.

Zekk's expression was one of the utmost confusion. "You've got to be kidding me. Trained as a Sith, remember? Just tell me what to do, and keep it simple. Nothing bigger than two-syllable words."

Jaina nodded. "That's what I thought." She glanced up at Kyp. "Looks like it's you and me, Durron. Ironic, isn't? The only one of us she ever liked for even a minute is useless…"

Zekk looked ill. "Let's _not_ bring that up. I'm begging you."

She began to undo Sanar's restraints. "Men, eh, Sanar?" Jaina muttered to the still woman. "They're fine about doing nothing until you remind them that that's all they _can_ do…"

No reaction. Jaina had hoped that the feminist-style crack would at least get a twitch.

"Zekk, go get a bag of ice, would you? She's burning up." Jaina looked up at her former master. "Got any ideas, Kyp?"

Kyp had been staring at nothing, and he jumped when Jaina spoke to him. "What was that?" he asked slowly.

Frowning, she said, "Are you okay?" A new thought struck her, and something within her froze. "Do you…need to go?" _Is this the real goodbye until I die again?_ she wanted to ask.

His head shook almost of its own accord. "No. I need to be here – for Sanar. That's my job."

Jaina's heart gave an audible crack at the expression on his face. Neither she nor Kyp were what they had been. No one could cross into the River and be the same.

But she had been able to come back to live her destiny. Kyp…was a ghost. Just a ghost.

Looking down at Sanar, Jaina stood. "What I said was, do you have any ideas?"

Kyp's hand began to touch Sanar's cheek, but then he shook his head, reality drowning him again. Jaina knew exactly how he felt. "We need to stop the poison from advancing," he told her, watching as Sanar's body started to twitch.

Jaina bit the inside of her cheek pensively, and realized vaguely that it was a habit she had picked up from Sanar. "Alright. Mystics 101, here we come."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

It only really, truly sank in when she was baby-sitting some of the kids.

Aarylia Tisane knew everything was different. She knew it would never stop being different. Jaina Solo would never be her master again, and she would never be able to just pop in on the Solo family, and snitch some of their cookies, again. Jaina would try to be a mentor again, but Death had changed her, and eventually she would drift away. It wasn't her job to groom Aarie for adulthood; Jaina had a new destiny. One far grander than being a normal Jedi Master.

Aarie understood that.

She was thirteen now – on the brink of womanhood, or so everyone told her. And while she had gleefully – _wilfully_ – taken after Jaina's impulsive behaviour, Aarylia knew she wasn't Jaina Solo.

And, she realized, she didn't want to be, either.

She was just Aarie. Just another, future Jedi Knight. Part of a new generation, true, but just that. Aarie's parents weren't heroes – at least, she didn't think they were. They had died long before her memories started. Neither she nor her roots were special. She would be part of the background, watching occasionally, and helping where she could.

And she knew that that was right for her. She wasn't made to save the galaxy; she didn't think she would be able to stand that sort of thing. But she wanted to matter – and she would. To people whose names she knew. To a few people, whose government had been put back into order, or whose planet was directed out of war.

The thought banged her upside the head, and Aarie had to stare at the floor for several long minutes before she could recover.

Her path had cut away from Jaina's. It hurt, and Aarie couldn't wait to escape to her room, where she could cry. But she understood something she had hidden from before. Something that she hadn't been able to accept when the path she had expected was wrenched away from her.

Aarie didn't fit with Jaina anymore. She fit into Master Tiran's world. He wasn't perfect; he wasn't necessarily someone she idolized. But he was someone she could tease about his girlfriend, but still take seriously. She trusted him, and knew that, although he would protect her until his last breath faded, he wouldn't coddle her. She would wake up everyday, and learn something new – something that everyday heroes, heroes who knew the name of their short list of saved people, needed to know.

Feet pounded on the floor, stealing Aarie's attention. A young blond girl smiled shyly at her baby-sitter. "Aarie, Arelyk was wondering if we could have snacks now."

Aarie grinned and stood, taking Lera's hand. "Is Arelyk helpless to come and ask me himself, now?" she teased

Lera blushed and looked down. "No…but he wasn't going to ask. And someone had to. Besides, I was sorta hungry anyway, and…"

"Alright, alright." Aarie chuckled. "I'm going to make you laugh yet, Lera."

Lera stopped and frowned. "But I do laugh," she insisted solemnly. "Everyone laughs."

"Everyone else…" Aarie's voice faded as she stared at the ten-year-old. _Everyone else is different_, she thought silently.

Apparently, her epiphanies were not limited to just her own role. "Lera, do you keep a journal?"

Lera tugged at one of her braids, uncomfortable under her babysitter's stare. "Well, um, sometimes, but I keep forgetting to update it. Why?"

"Oh, nothing." _I just have the feeling your life is going to get very interesting_. "Now, let's go find some cookies."

The thirteen-year-old forgot about her brief feeling about Lera Verili by the time she had gotten the bag of cookies out. Aarie was just a normal Jedi apprentice. She'd leave the tough stuff up to the others. To the save-the-galaxy heroes, like Jaina Solo.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina was submerged in a world in which she had never before been. Her talents in the Force had never lain in healing. They never would.

But she was the only one who could even hope to manipulate Sanar's molecular structure, or whatever it was that was affected by the poison. Jaina was alive, and bonded more tightly to Sanar than anyone was supposed to be.

_Even Garik wouldn't argue with that reasoning_, she mused. _So why am I so sure that Kyp would be the better person?_ Well, maybe it was only her believing – knowing – that Kyp was easily the more experienced Jedi.

/_You're not concentrating, Jaina,_/ Kyp whispered in her mind.

She refocused on Sanar's aura, which was pale pink, in contrast of its usual, deep scarlet. Where was it the palest, the splotchiest? If Sanar was going to survive the trip – and any mistakes Jaina made – she would need a boost of energy, which Kyp would provide, through Jaina.

_There_.

"Alright. Now…" Her words were barely more than a breath. They sufficed; Kyp wasn't listening to her with his ears, after all.

Energy poured into her, and she thought she might actually explode from it – the power was far, far more than she possessed, or could stand – but desperation made it work. Straining to control the waves of Kyp's power, she nearly collapsed in relief when both Kyp and Zekk reached out to take on some of the burden. With her eyes clear once more, she directed the energy to where it was needed, and felt Sanar breathe easier in response.

Withdrawing, and willingly returning Kyp's loan of power, Jaina concentrated on the reality of Sanar's body. It was difficult, but she managed to cobble together a vague idea of what she needed to do.

Then she set to work.

Jaina's probes stumbled from relatively healthy organ to useless place that she could not even recognize (not that that was a foreign idea). Time passed, and she cursed her slowness.

But then she found it, nestled insidiously close to Sanar's lungs, and flowing through her veins from there. Sanar's blood ran dark with the poison. Breathing a deep sigh of relief – and letting it out with horror – Jaina set to work. Kyp had given her instructions as best he could, but it was really all up to Jaina. Unless…

/_Sanar?_/

There was no reply. So. It was just Jaina. And her gift to Sanar, for saving Jaina's life. Well, for a multitude of other reasons, too, but the life-saveage was probably the only excuse Sanar would deign to accept.

Kyp had been drifting again, but when no follow up of "I found it!" came, he nudged Jaina in reminder. /_We don't have all day, Solo._/

/_Then stop sleeping on the job_,/ she returned absently.

With new focus, she attacked the void-like bacteria. To her frustration, it didn't work; everytime she sliced 'n' diced the poison atoms, they split and formed more of the same. Disgusted, she watched as the poison simply used her every would-be arresting action to multiply.

But Jaina had always been good at thinking on her feet. It was one of the perks of being Han Solo's daughter.

A long time ago, when she was younger, and her parents were still pretending that she had a choice about being anything other than a Jedi, Jaina had taken science classes. At twenty, she barely remembered anything that wasn't directly related to a ship's physics, but she did recall a few, random pieces of information. One of those tidbits was that things slowed down when they were cold.

Well, maybe it wasn't random, since it really helped when she needed to fix a hyperdrive unit, or an engine, but… It was important in a whole new arena, now.

As deliberate as she was doubtful, Jaina imagined a chill sweeping along Sanar's veins. This caught Kyp's attention, who prompted her to focus on actually dropping Sanar's temperature, rather than playing mind games with Sanar's blood.

Now, Jaina had done something of that sort of thing _once_, on herself. Immediately after, she had ended up in a private ward at the med-centre, where they had hoped she wouldn't be able to spread her unique, freezing disease.

/_Just hurry up_,/ Kyp urged. /_Try to slow her heart beat a little. It's too frantic now._/

Clumsy, she did so. To her delighted relief, this even cooled Sanar – and the poison molecules – a noticeable bit. _Excellent one-stone-two-birds application_, she congratulated herself. Expanding on this technique just a little more, Jaina matched Sanar's heartbeat with her own, relaxed thump.

/_Not too much…!_/ Kyp warned quickly.

/_I'm not the type to murder my sister,_/ Jaina whispered back, completely calm.

Calm, because, at that moment, the poison slowed…stilled…and stopped.

It _stopped_.

Withdrawing from Sanar's consciousness, Jaina smiled. "Happy late birthday, big sister."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	50. Ch32: Family Matters

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Family Matters**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Despite the med-bay already being relatively noisy, Lord Onyx, the resurrected Jaina Solo, and a ghost that looked remarkably like Kyp Durron still managed to burst upon the scene. The two corporeal humans carried a stranger between them, and, despite his bewilderment, Medic Bavirr caught on quickly. The newcomer was his next patient.

Rushing to them, and choosing to ignore the why of Onyx's presence, the Bothan asked briskly, "What happened?"

The very much alive Miss Solo – what a medical miracle, if the rumours were true! – shifted her hold on the other woman. "Where's a spare bed?"

Bavirr directed them to a small, curtained-off room, and a cot. "Put her in here."

"Thanks," Onyx muttered. He sounded a little testy, but he placed the patient on the bed gently enough. "We came as fast as we could."

The medic pressed a call button for one of the nurses. "What's the problem?"

"Poison," Jaina Solo answered shortly. "I don't for how long, or even what the poison is, though."

Pressing the stethoscope to the other, wan woman's heart, Bavirr listened for a few minutes. "How long has she been unconscious?"

Miss Solo bit her lip, then offered, "Almost twenty-four hours? I was a little…tied up, and couldn't see when she fell. The trip back took about seven hours. However," she quickly added, seeing Bavirr's concern, "Zekk, Kyp and I were able to stop the poison's spread, so…it shouldn't be as bad as your expression suggests."

The nurse – a Twi'lek – had pushed back the curtain long enough to enter. She began to speak, then stopped, her gold eyes flicking from Jaina to the patient. "Whoa. I thought you were a twin, not a triplet, Miss Solo."

Jaina's hand reached out to grip the patient's hand tightly. "She isn't – look, could you just help her?"

The Twi'lek blinked, but turned to the Bavirr. "What'll it be?"

Bevirr studied his patient. "We'll need to do blood work – pull a few scientists and prepare them to ascertain the poison. Meanwhile, retrieve a few bacta patches, and the normal set-up for disease care. Miss Solo, if you could make a list of known symptoms – there is a datapad on that dresser…"

Inevitably, Bevirr's gaze was drawn to Lord Onyx. "And – you – ah, well…"

Miss Solo looked up from the datapad she had retrieved, and watched the two men. "Zekk, why don't you fill this list," she suggested with a wince. "Just…look around – get what you need – you know. I'll fill the medic in on Sanar's information."

Taking Bevirr by the arm, she directed him out of the curtained room. "Your name is…?"

"Medic Bevirr," the Bothan introduced, looking over his shoulder, hesitant to leave his patient. The ghost (_sithing long hours; they were damaging his brain. Ghosts? Bah!_) he had seen earlier was now gone, and with it any precautions Bevirr could have taken.

"Sanar will be safe with Zekk," Solo assured the Hapan male. "However, no doubt you will need some information, as you look for the cure to her malady."

Bevirr gave up, but made a note to check Miss Solo's mental records. Fame could do funny things to people, after all…

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

**Devnos watched.**

**He saw.**

**He saw the face of the _other_; he saw the inevitability.**

**He hated; he cursed; he raged.**

**He couldn't believe it; they couldn't be this cruel, this twisted.**

**But –**

**Strength, power, justice, death… Even, eventually, personal investment. All the ingredients were present.**

**And so he accepted that.**

**But he would never accept…**

**The rest.**

**_Do you hear me?!_ he silently screamed. _I refuse to accept that it's the only way! I refuse!_**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Devnos woke violently, and it was some time before he could calm himself down. Coppery blood filled his mouth, and he realized that he had bit down on his tongue. Cursing softly, he reached up to wipe the blood away, but found he couldn't.

Blinking in confusion, Devnos made his eyes focus as he looked down – at leather straps that encased his hands and feet.

He raised his eyes to study his location, and found bare, metal walls – a detention cell.

He was a…prisoner? How had _that_ happened?!

Groaning, Devnos closed his eyes, hoping that, when he opened them again, everything would be back to normal.

One eyelid raised, and then the other…and, no, his position had not changed.

_Of all the luck._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

It was a peaceful sight, Leia admitted to herself. An eerie one, too – one that made her stop when she first saw it.

But peaceful. Maybe even…yes, it was right. At the very least, it was something to which she would have to resign herself.

The sight was that of Jaina and Zekk lying together awkwardly, yet, somehow, so very comfortably, on a bench in the waiting area of the med-centre. The Hapan scientists had managed to discover the name and antidote of Falat's poison nearly an hour ago. The medic, Bevirr, had told Leia that Sanar would awaken in thirty-six hours, nearly as good as new. As for Jaina, and her position in Zekk's arms, Leia could only guess that he had convinced her to sleep, if only on a bench. Knowing Jaina and her stubbornness – not to mention her protectiveness of Zekk – the young woman had insisted that he stay with her.

Leia's hand dropped to her protruding stomach. She only had a few weeks – if that – left in her pregnancy; another son, or daughter, would be in her arms before another month had passed. Perhaps it was the hormones, but Leia could not even begin to categorize what she felt about that, or about On—Zekk's presence at a time when she felt vulnerable.

Leia Organa Solo was a princess. At eighteen, she had taken charge of her own rescue party; three years later, she had discovered that her birth father was her government's greatest enemy. Since then, she had persuaded the Senate in matters of galaxy security, and done far more. She was not faint-hearted, and she had never been a damsel in distress. She had not been raised that way.

But one of her greatest faults was that Leia found it very difficult to forgive, especially when the being who needed forgiveness had hurt her or those she loved. It had taken her years to accept Anakin Skywalker, and distinguish between her father, the Jedi Knight, and Darth Vader.

Could she accept and forgive Zekk? Nearly every bit of Leia dug in its heels at the idea, screaming that Onyx had killed her sons – had murdered Anakin! She loved her sons, would always love them; how could she possibly even _consider_ letting her daughter love their murderer?

But she loved her daughter, too, so very much. How could she do anything but agree?

_Yes_, Leia thought with a sigh, her eyes once again seeing Jaina and Zekk's intimately close forms. _How could I live with denying what my daughter so clearly believes, and loves?_

The sight was peaceful. And right, although it took so much of Leia to admit it.

What could she do now, but trust her daughter, and learn to distinguish between Zekk and Lord Onyx?

She sighed, and brushed a few stray hairs out of her face. "Alright," she whispered. "Alright."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina woke fuzzily, and pried her grimy eyes open to see the presence she had sensed. "Hi, Mom," she said softly. In a belated attempt to not push her mother too quickly, she sat up, and stood, away from Zekk, who continued to sleep. _Compromise and understanding_, she reminded herself, _are the keys to a working relationship._

But Leia simply looked at her, and Jaina puzzled that her mother appeared…different, somehow. "Jaina," the princess began. "I love you. You know that, right?"

Concerned, Jaina stepped closer, and thought back on when she had first seen her mother on Hapes. "Of course. As well as I know I love you." She hesitated, then suddenly remembered the baby. "Are you alright, Mom? Is the baby – "

"Oh, it's not that," Leia hurried to reassure her. "There will be a few weeks yet. Can't a mother tell her only up-and-walking child that she loves her?"

Jaina glanced back at Zekk, making sure that he was asleep, then scanned the waiting room for anyone who might try to attack "Lord Onyx". Seeing no one, she slipped an arm around Leia's waist. "Let's go outside, 'kay?"

Leia mimicked Jaina's action, and the young woman smiled at her mother's embrace. "It will be a good place to talk," Leia agreed.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Zekk was waiting for her when Jaina returned, and the couple shared a smile. "You look…" He trailed off. "Less tense," he finally settled upon.

She slipped into his arms, comfortable there. "Mom and I had a talk," she explained. "I think things are going to be better, now."

Kissing her forehead softly, he said, "I'm glad."

She looked up suddenly, sensing his guilt. "It wasn't you, you know. I mean, parts of it was, but don't feel guilty. Mom and I…there was a lot going on. And, you know, I was being a typical teenager."

Zekk smirked. "You're twenty; you can't hide behind the teenager excuse anymore."

"Of course not. I'm a mature adult now – " Zekk laughed out loud, garnering a glare from Jaina. "Excuse me? Do you have something to say? Does the peanut gallery have an opinion?"

"Of course not," he replied, green eyes dancing.

"Well." She leaned back to look him in the eye. "As a mature adult, I'm quite able to forgive and understand my parents. Haven't you heard? Generations get mushed together, and they inevitably become friends."

"Is 'mushed' even a word, let alone one a 'mature adult' would use?" Zekk teased.

Making a face, she said, "Just shut up. Oh, and ki—"

He obliged before she finished her sentence.

Leia, in the shadows, turned to locate her own beloved. _Why_ – she forced herself to think lightly – _should the kids get all the fun?_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"…If you want to be ready for anything, do you wear hot pink? No, you wear black. Why? Because it's classic. Because it _works_, no matter the situation."

_What the…?_

"I can't believe you're trying to tell me that black is to dress is as X1L9 is to blaster. Did dying completely addle your brain?"

"How nice of you to ask, but, no, it hasn't. Well, not in the matter of weaponry."

"Please. I'm a bounty hunter. I _survive_ on blasters. The X1L9 doesn't have nearly the advantages of a WesserEye."

Sanar could quite honestly say that she had never woken up to the sound of two quiet, friendly voices chatting about which style blaster was the best.

The first of said voices sounded familiar, and Sanar forced her ears to pay attention. What kind of world was she waking up to?

_Ah…_ she thought after a moment, placing the voice as that of none other than Jaina Solo. Well, there were worse things than putting up with heroes. At the very least, they weren't likely to kill her without some kind of warning. Heroes couldn't backstab without giving everything away; their consciences always had a pathetic effect on their lying and acting abilities.

Anyway, they were probably too _noble_ to do anything sneaky.

With that reassuring thought, Sanar opened her eyes, intending to gather information on what was going on before they noticed she was awake.

"Sanar!"

_Oh, Larifx_, the slave groaned. _I'm no sneakier than one of _them "'Ey, Solo."

Jaina pulled her chair closer to Sanar's bed, the metal legs scraping irritably. "How are you feeling?"

Sanar opened her mouth to say "Like Hell", but stopped before the words could pass her mouth.

Jaina Solo was in complete colour. And, over her shoulder, the other woman looked exactly the way she would if she was standing a metre away. Which could only mean that Sanar's eyes were no longer playing tricks.

Realizing for the first time that she was in a med-bay bed, Sanar propped herself up, and shuddered as she realized that she was strong enough to do so. Raising her right hand, she noted the IV that was taped into it, and looked up at Jaina.

"You needed food." Jaina shrugged. "And you were a little out of it. Hey, beats a health shake."

Sanar closed her eyes, ignoring Jaina, and revelling in the healthiness that permeated her body. "I feel won—hungry," she corrected swiftly, before Solo got a big head and thought Sanar was grateful. "For real food."

Jaina's companion, who looked oddly familiar, stepped forward. "The medic said that once he checked you over again, post-awakening, you can go. He should be here in a minute."

As if she sensed Sanar's wariness and confusion, Jaina said, "You remember Cerasy, right? The bounty hunter? From what I hear, she dished it out to Devnos quite well…"

Sanar blinked, then studied the red-haired woman. "You had blue hair before," was all she could think to say.

Cerasy shrugged. "I change it a lot."

Rolling her eyes amiably, Jaina continued to explain. "Zekk, Cerasy and a few of my friends took over the ship about three days ago. They found you and Devnos both unconscious. We flew back to Hapes – that's here – for medical care. Fortunately, the poison Falat used wasn't uncommon; he was relying on your seclusion. Besides, the symptoms appeared only to be from a disease, so he was safe for a while."

Sanar's attention waned as Jaina chattered of details. To her surprise, she recognized that Solo was working off nervous energy, and Sanar looked at the younger woman with faint confusion. Why had _Solo_ been worried? Had there ever been any doubt that Zekk would save the day for his hero girlfriend? Unlike Sanar, who had no one, Jaina had had _several_ people race to her rescue.

On that topic, Sanar's mind wandered to her brother. "Where is Devnos?" she asked, interrupting Jaina's tense explanations.

Jaina ran her tongue over her teeth pensively before she replied. "As I said, we found him unconscious, next to you. After everyone was certain you would pull through, we got a medic to check Devnos for problems." The Jedi frowned. "Oddly enough…there was no problem. He's perfectly healthy; there was no reason for his collapse. So the Hapes Defence kind of took over."

"Meaning…" Sanar prodded impatiently.

"He's being held in a prison cell," Jaina explained. "When he wakes up, he will probably be interrogated, and… Actually, I don't really know what they plan for afterwards."

Cerasy nudged her friend, and whispered, "Jaina, you had better tell her about the brain thing."

With the poison gone, there was nothing wrong with Sanar's hearing. "What brain thing?"

Jaina looked strangely guilty. "Well…I wasn't going to say anything, because it – the medics believe it isn't important, but…"

"Devnos is loopy," Cerasy interrupted calmly.

"_What_?" Sanar choked out, staring at the bounty hunter.

Solo rolled her eyes at her friend. "He is _not_. Devnos… The medics detected disrupted brain waves. They came irregularly – or, was it that they were just weird?" Jaina checked with Cerasy.

"'Weird' pretty much sums it up," the red-head agreed. "That's all I got out of the medical mumbo-jumbo, anyways."

Sanar's eyes flicked from Cerasy to Jaina. "Explain."

"The doctors didn't recognize it as anything. The anomalies disappeared not long after the scientists noticed them, and, even when they did show up, they were very faint. It's probably nothing."

Sanar sank back into her pillow, watching the ceiling as it refused to swirl. _Disrupted brain waves. What could that mean?_ she wondered, then rubbed her eyes. The clarity of her thoughts was enough to dizzy her. _What's going on, Devnos?_

Abruptly, her eyes swung back to Jaina, their focus more evident for its disappearance for so long previously. "What do you think?"

Jaina fidgeted; Sanar knew the Jedi did that when she was holding something back. "What do you mean?"

"Your instincts are better than mine," Sanar admitted grudgingly. "What do you think about…Devnos' brain stuff?"

The younger woman leaned forward, cupping her chin in her hands as she rested against Sanar's bed. Eerily, in silence, Jaina's eyes watched her 'sister', never wavering.

"Solo?" Sanar rubbed her arms, fighting back goosebumps.

"I…think…" Jaina stood, turning away from Sanar. Behind her, Solo's hands clasped each other, tightening and loosening of their own accord. "I think that nothing can ever make me forgive him for what he did to – you. So it doesn't matter."

Sanar watched as her IV-needle-free hand tightened in a fist, then relaxed. "But what if there _was_ a reason? What if…" _What if I could have my brother back?_

"It could be nothing," Jaina pointed out as she turned around, and Sanar noticed that the Jedi was biting her nails. "And even if it _is_ something, it doesn't mean…it has to do with…"

_Yes, it does,_ Sanar's gut whispered. When she looked up at Jaina's wide, hopeful eyes, Sanar knew that Solo's instincts had said the same.

"O_kay_…" Cerasy drawled when no one spoke further. "For those of us who aren't possessed by the other, could the two of you talk out loud?"

Jaina started and blushed. "Sorry, Cerasy." Tapping her fingers for a moment, she then refocused on Sanar. "Well?"

Sanar had to shove the words off her tongue; the fear, hope, joy and despair combined so potently that everything within her froze. "I want to see my brother. I'll decide after that."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	51. Ch33: Miko's Lifeline

**Chapter Thirty-Three: Miko's Lifeline**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Oh but I  
Need some time off from that emotion  
Time to pick my heart up off the floor  
And when that love comes down  
Without devotion  
Well it takes a strong man baby  
But I'm showing you the door  
Yes I've gotta have faith..._  
- "Faith" by George Michael

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Devnos looked around warily, his mind racing as he tried to figure out what he had done, or what was needed from him. Why had Gaffil demanded his return to this place?_

_Rafintair's brother's hands were steepled before his dark face, and Devnos forced his body to bend in a bow. Flashes of his father's face and Sanar's stunned eyes raced through his mind, but Devnos ignored them. There was no place for that, anymore, and certainly not in the presence of Gaffil Jir._

//"Promise me you'll protect them, Devnos."//

_He hadn't betrayed his father; Devnos refused to believe he had. He_ couldn't_ have. His father would have understood; this was the only way._

_The only way._

"_How goes your reunion with the members of your…family?" Gaffil asked, his words a coiled snake, waiting to pounce._

_Devnos swallowed, forcing down the lump in his throat, and found his expression of disgust. "I had not before realized how…weak they are."_

_How lame was that statement? He was a horrible liar. There was no chance Gaffil had bought it; none at all._

//"Protect them."//

_Gaffil rose, an adder playing with its prey. "Had you not?"_

"_To think that once I lived without Pucijir's guidance…" Devnos shook his head, and had to restrain himself from becoming hysterical. _Pucijir's guidance? Hah!

_Once, he had believed – just a little. It had been the easiest course of action, away from his family, away from Sanar, who fought, and dug in her heels at each turn. Away from the memory of his father._

_But never again._ Never.

_But, Force, it would kill him._

"_The High Priest Horaire believes…"_

_Speaking of the priest, Devnos' list of people to kill was getting very long. "Yes?"_

"_He believes you are a heretic."_

_Devnos closed his eyes, and waited to die._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista pulled her abundance of blond hair up into a ponytail, cracked her gum, and smiled prettily at Devnos. "So," she said. "Devnos. I'm here to start your interrogation. Hope you don't mind, because it won't change anything if you do."

Devnos' expression was annoyed. "I haven't been to the Imperial Palace in nearly half a year. I know nothing."

Krista rolled her eyes. "And yet you knew to go after Jaina, and you know that Lord Onyx changed back into our adorable, guilt-ridden Zekk."

"My sister was present at Onyx's turning," Devnos replied, a mixture of condescension and chagrin evident in his voice. "Emperor Palpatine could not afford to shuttle me aside."

Krista ran her tongue over her teeth, considering him. "Okay, then. I'll just get Kip to pry the 'secret' stuff out of you later. This is just feeling you out, and all, and—"

Devnos started, then swallowed hard. "I thought Kyp Durron was dead," he interrupted.

Krista's brow furrowed. "Well, of course he's… Oh! No. I'm talking about _Kip_: K-I-P." When he didn't respond, she heaved an exasperated sigh and added, "You know…the _clone_?"

Playing with the chains that held his wrists behind him, Devnos sat back in his uncomfortable chair, torn between relief and despair. "I see."

Krista stood – perhaps she was trying to inspire more fear than her blond hair and blue eyes initiated? "Who knows about Onyx?" she fired out.

"Me. Five – no, four, now; I killed one of them – other Dark Jedi, not counting their apprentices. Who else?" he wondered out loud. "Oh, the Imperial Guards, Brakiss' aide, and maybe one or two politicians, but that's it." Devnos shrugged. "As you've no doubt guessed, Brakiss is afraid that the Empire will swing in Onyx's favour if they find out he left Brakiss' tutelage. Onyx made sure he was popular before he turned on the current government."

Krista blinked. "Well. That was easy." She paused, then tilted her head inquisitively. "Are you lying?"

Devnos shrugged indifferently. What did he care about the Empire's secrets? It had only ever been a distraction, a tool – a stepping stone for his power. Devnos had even found out about the Palpatine dupe long ago, and it had done nothing to raise his level of respect for the emperor.

"Well…" Krista drew the word out, tossing her gaze to the ceiling before she looked back at Devnos. "Um, what else do you do? I mean, besides kidnapping Jedi to use on their ex-Sith boyfriends?"

"What kind of interrogator are you?" he demanded incredulously. "I've been questioned more harshly as a teen, when I came home late!"

She blew a bubble with her gum, then popped it. "I told you – I'm just feeling you out. Kip will be the one to crack down on you. He's capable of planning out the entire session, filled with important questions," Krista added.

"Larifx," he muttered. "I'm being interrogated by some bubble-gum doll. Who hates me up there, anyway?"

"Well, not whoever made your face," she consoled him, either missing or ignoring his insult. "You're kind of cute when you're mad." She grinned.

At the door, where he had been watching, Miko's jaw tightened.

Devnos' jaw unhinged. "You are the most brainless girl I have ever met."

"Hey!" Miko said angrily, although he, himself, had thought something along those lines once or twice. "Didn't your parents teach you any manners?"

Devnos gestured wildly at Krista, who was watching him with an unusually calculating expression on her face. "She's insane! Am I a prisoner of war, or a dummy for her to practice pick-up lines on?"

"Why does everyone think I'm so incompetent?" Krista demanded rhetorically, rolling her eyes. "I do _not_ need practice."

"No, you need a life," Devnos retorted.

The word "life" had barely left his lips when Devnos' head spun from the force of Miko's blow. "Why don't you shut up?" the former Dark Jedi sneered.

Devnos raised a hand to his tender eye, and flinched deeply. "What was that for? Even if you're her boyfriend, you can't argue – "

Miko pushed Devnos right off the chair. "I told you," he seethed, "to be quiet."

"Miko…!" Krista scowled in frustration and dragged her co-operative away by the elbow before he could cause more trouble. She paused at the doorway and looked back at Devnos, who was pulling himself back up. "Oh, whatever," she muttered. "Not like it was working, anyway…"

Miko really hoped she was referring to the interrogation, and not to her flirting, because he was teetering at the moment – over the edge of telling her, of losing control of his temper. Jaina had told him to confess, but Miko didn't know if he could stand to wear his heart out on his sleeve yet.

But everyone else knew; how much longer could he hide it?

Krista slammed the door shut behind them. "What's the matter with you, anyway?" she demanded, putting her hands on her slender hips. "Honestly! Attacking him! _I_'m the one who's interrogating him!"

"Who's flirting with him, you mean," Miko growled before he realized what he was saying.

Krista's eyes widened, and her bottom lip dropped to shape her mouth into an "O". "I was not!"

He shook his head, avoiding her eyes. "Please, Kris. I know you, remember? If it has a Y chromosome, you start batting your pretty blue eyes like no tomorrow."

"That is _not_ true!" she denied with a self-righteous stomp of her foot. "I've never batted my eyes at the laundry man, or the guy who serves fries at Luoss' Café, or…"

_Kriff lessons in patience_, Miko decided. He'd never been very good at them, anyway. Something always unravelled, leading to disaster. Besides: Jaina was right. He _couldn't_ live with this secret forever. "Kris. C'mon. Stop kidding yourself."

She pouted. "_What_?" _Miko_, she groused, _is being very weird_.

"You were flirting with Devnos Klis, just like you flirt with every other guy you come in contact with. And you don't give a Hutt's butt about any of them."

"I give a Hutt's butt about you," she rejoined petulantly.

"That's because I'm not one of your little toys."

Krista smiled brightly, innocently. "Of course you are, Miko. Boys are my – I mean…"

His lips twitched in an attempt to appear amused. Shoving his hands into the pockets of his pants, Miko figured that he was a horrible actor. _It's a miracle I haven't been found out by the Empire yet_. "See, Kris? Even you know it."

"But…"

"You go from guy to guy, bestowing this kiss or that smile on people, like those are your only gifts." Miko hadn't meant to be angry; he hadn't meant to let his emotions through. But if she was just going to stand there, with her make-up distracting people from her genuine beauty, and get away with toying with others' emotions, maybe it was time to let out a few of the old demons. With a little direction, of course. "Why can't you just care – just a little?"

"I _do_ care."

"About who, Krista?" he retorted, his voice rising in volume. "Besides the brothers you gripe about all the time, who do you actually care about?"

"I care about _you_," she whispered, hurt.

Miko's heart thumped more than just a little louder than normal at that.

He didn't really need tactics with this relationship, did he? It could work out on its own.

Except, actually, it couldn't. And he knew it. For one, she'd discard him the second he transformed into just a number. Not to mention that her brothers would kill him.

He really, really hated this whole "patience" thing. It sucked. Especially because it allowed him too much time to meet some unpleasant truths about the woman he loved. Like the fact that she wasn't really a woman yet – just a girl who didn't see a reason to be mature about anything other than her work.

_I had to fall for the baby of the family, didn't I? Force, I'm an idiot. Even O—Zekk knows it_.

"Miko? Didn't you hear me?"

The Intel operative's eyes settled on her. "I heard you. I'm just trying to decide if I believe you."

She back-handed him across the chest. "Now who's ignoring the truth? Of course I care about you – you're my friend. Duh!"

He fell back a step, taking his hands from his pockets to cross his arms over his chest while he stared at the floor. "Of course."

There was a quick, excited intake of breath as Krista almost bounced over to him. "I get it now!" she crowed, her hurt vanishing in realization. "You have a crush on me."

Miko wanted to shake her. She made it sound so stupid. So…juvenile. But, then again, it was nothing new to her.

He had become just another guy. Just another boy who'd fallen for her charms.

"I do not," he denied, scowling at her.

Krista's blue eyes sparkled. "Of course you do. That's why you were so mad about that Klis guy. You're so sweet, Miko."

She thought he was _sweet_? Stars. He was even less than just one of the boys she played with. When had he gone from the bad boy, to the reluctant hero, to the pathetic geek who stammered, blushed, tripped and fumbled whenever she looked at him?

"I used to command a deadly squadron of Dark Jedi. I am not 'sweet'. Force, Krista!"

Unexpectedly, she withdrew, her expression becoming a little more serious. "Miko – "

"Just get your laugh out of it, already."

Her eyes widened and the sparkle disappeared completely from her eyes. "Miko, I'm not – I didn't mean to – "

He pushed past her, stopping at the viewport and bracing his arms against the divisions between the double-sided plexi-glass. Devnos had a shiner already, but he wasn't reacting like a normal Dark Jedi. The dark-haired man just looked worn out.

Miko wondered what Devnos thought about his sister, who was in the Hapes med-centre, being saved from a deadly poison that she had contacted on _Devnos'_ ship.

"You never finished your Jedi training, did you?"

Krista came up behind him. "I barely completed eight months. More important things to do, and all. Besides, meditation and lifting rocks…not really my thing."

When she tried to slip into the crack between his arm and his torso, he let her slide through, then he took a step to the side. Away from her. "Did Luke ever tell you, 'Always in motion is the future'?"

She was biting her nails; she always did it when she was upset or particularly thoughtful. He wondered if that meant anything, of if she was only considering his topic change. "It rings a bell."

"It's common sense; the future's always changing. Jaina brought Zekk back, and gave the Rebellion an ace. But if she had given up on her love for him, we would never have caught that. Everyone else had given up. Kriff, everyone was pretty sure there was something wrong with her in the head. But maybe she had a vision. Maybe she knew that she could do it."

Krista touched his elbow. "Miko – "

"For once, Kris, just let me talk, please."

Her fingers slid down his arm until they met with his palm, her eyes resting closely on their entwined hands, but she didn't continue.

"I have a vision. It terrifies me." For the first time since he moved to the viewing area, Miko's eyes met with Krista's. "It's you, in ten years. Just…doing what you always do, provoking your brothers with a new guy, having fun with all your little friends…but completely alone."

Her free arm wrapped around her stomach while her gaze skittered about nervously. "I won't be alone," she argued weakly. "I'll have you, after all."

He took his hand from hers. "No. You won't."

The blonde's eyes flew up, and they were suddenly shining with tears that she hadn't expected. "I will!"

"No, Krista," he denied tiredly. "I'm not playing games; I'm not one of your playthings that you can flaunt in your brothers' faces, then discard."

"It wouldn't be like that," she said, fighting to keep her expression defiant.

"You know it would." Miko sighed, resigned. "I love you, Kris. I don't have a crush on you. I'm not just attracted to you. I _love_ you. With that kind of thing, you have to at least pretend you aren't playing around. Let's face it: the only commitment you have in your life is to your brothers. And that's mandatory."

She hadn't heard a word past his second statement. "You…you love me?"

He looked at her, her blue eyes shining with tears and more. "What, didn't any of your boys use the same line?"

Krista sniffed, regaining some of her casual attitude. "Why should I believe any of _them_?"

Miko exhaled slowly. "Oh." His fingers tapped against the window ledge for a minute before he pushed off the wall. For a second, he indulged himself with a last look. "Well, have a nice life, Kris." He turned to leave, and she spun around with him.

"_What_?"

Miko kept walking, but replied over his shoulder. "This is goodbye. For now."

After her initial spin, she remained frozen to her spot. "But – but you just – you said – "

Despite himself, he stopped and turned around. "I love you, Krista Harif," he repeated deliberately. "But you don't love me. At least, not enough to grow up."

"I _am_ grown up," she retorted, stomping her foot. "I'm eighteen in a month."

He rolled his eyes, but couldn't help his smile. "Kris… You're just a flirt. And I'm not going to get caught any more than I already am. I'm not into martyrdom." He wanted to reach out and comfort her – she looked so lost – but he stayed where he was.

//_"Give yourself a lifeline, Miko."_//

Jaina had been right, but he wasn't walking away. Not permanently.

Miko looked at his love for a long moment, tucking away the memory of every last flaw and perfection. Then he turned away. "Goodbye, Krista." The door closed behind him.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

She stared at his back, and then at the closed door, as it all sank in.

Miko had never lied to her; never even left her, when she needed him.

_Never_.

It was suddenly impossible to breathe, and she folded over, choking and gasping, trying to catch what she had lost.

They weren't supposed to leave _her_! Krista had been so very careful to make sure they didn't; she had always raced in the other direction. She wasn't going to lose people she cared about – not again. Miko had understood that.

Hadn't he?

The tears tumbled from her eyes, and images of her parents – _Why did you leave me? Did you not want me?_ – blurred as the world twirled around her.

Miko had left her.

It wasn't fair.

But her chrono ticked away the seconds, and she realized, with horror, that he was painfully right. Miko had never, ever lied to her; for as long as she had known him, he had been completely honest with her, and she with him.

Stars, how long had she pushed everyone away?

Better question: how long had she been running from people who were willing to stay?

Wiping her eyes franticly, she ran to the door, threw it open and looked for him.

But, already, Miko was nowhere to be found. "Don't leave," she whispered.

She couldn't tell if she was talking to everyone she knew, and had ever known, or if she was speaking to just Miko.

At the moment, weren't the two the same thing?

They had all been pushed away by her self-enforced isolation.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	52. Ch34: Kind of Like Sisters

**Chapter Thirty-Four: Kind of Like Sisters**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"_He believes you are a heretic."_

_Devnos' world ended there. What defence did he have? What careful, cunning words could he use against those of a High Priest? In what way could he save himself, and still keep his word to his father?_

_His world, his life, was over._

"_Do you have nothing to say in your defence?" Gaffil asked, his voice made of ice._

_Devnos stared at Rafintair's second-in-command, then came to a decision. What use was there in hiding? He was dead already; he could at least use this second to be a Klis thorn in the side. "I am my father's son,_ warftha_. Where you force upon this world beliefs that make you and your brother into some kind of demi-gods, I was raised to believe in honour and – "_

"_Silence!"_

"_No! I will not be silent!" Devnos spat, rising to his full height. At seventeen, he was only beginning to come into his own, but it would have to do. Unknown to him, his bravery and outrage made him look older, and more intimidating, than his straightened spine. "We aren't done with you and your perverted regime yet, Gaffil: you will fall! Don't you doubt it! Your end, Pucijir's end, is coming – right from the ones you oppress! _That_ I promise you. The Jir family has pushed too far; even the Force is involved, now."_

_Gaffil folded his arms over his chest as he watched Devnos with cold eyes. "Traitor's words. You are even more foolish than your father."_

_Devnos raised his chin, and he looked down on Gaffil as best he could. "I will not go to my death afraid to say something that might make it hurt more. _I_ will die with dignity. Can you say the same for yourself?"_

_Ignoring Devnos' last taunting question, Gaffil walked down the stairs that raised him above those he allowed into his imperial presence. "Your death? Oh, no, Klis. We learned our mistake last time, with your father. We have something much more…effective planned for you."_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina knew immediately that Krista had been crying. The cause was not necessarily so easy to recognize, but from the girl she sensed obvious loss and shock. And if that wasn't enough to clue her in, the red eyes and splotchy skin were a dead giveaway.

_Miko threw out the strategy book_, she understood after a moment's scrutiny. She wondered who she should sympathize with – Krista, who hadn't realized, or Miko, who couldn't fight it out any longer. In the end, she chose neither. That different connection she had received post-death encouraged a positive outlook on the couple's future.

Jaina let her friend pull herself back together, then spoke gently. "Sanar wants to see Devnos."

Krista straightened and kicked out a little, as if working out kinks in her legs. "Al—alright." Her voice cracked mid-word. "Control called me a little while ago, and it doesn't look like Kip's gonna make it to the interrogation block, so you can have as much time as you like. He's got nowhere to go but back to his cell."

Sanar studied Krista briefly, as if she knew that somehow this subdued air was not normal for this particular girl. After a second, however, Sanar shrugged and seemed to brush it off. Jaina figured Sanar had too much going on in her head to care about a stranger's abnormalities. "Just – just through that door, right?" Sanar asked, pointing to the left.

Krista turned and nodded wearily. "That'd be it."

"Do you want company?" Jaina asked, biting her lip.

Sanar shook her head before making her way into the room. Jaina watched through the view port, checking to make sure that Devnos wasn't in attack mode, before she let her eyes sidle over to Krista. "Are you okay?" she queried softly.

Krista's chin raised proudly. "_Duh_," she retorted. The indifferent façade was somewhat damaged when she sniffled.

Sometimes, Jaina found it very hard to believe that she was only two years older than Krista. She wondered, idly, if Miko ever felt like he was robbing the cradle.

_That's why he left_, she acknowledged. "I take it Miko told you?"

Krista's eyes widened. "That he… Does _everyone_ know?"

Jaina chuckled. "Well, despite his work in Intelligence, Miko isn't a very good actor."

"He's a _great_ actor," Krista defended. "Miko – "

"Cool it, Kris." Jaina smiled to soften the words. "I get it." She paused, then continued, "Usually, though, confessions of love don't make the _recipient_ cry."

"He left," Krista answered stiffly. "He told me that he loves me, and then he just…left. He said he isn't coming back. And I wasn't crying!"

Jaina whistled under her breath. "Wow. Didn't see that coming."

"He left," Krista repeated miserably.

Jaina doubted the other girl had meant for her to hear that, but she responded anyway. "He _is_ older than you, Krista, and he's seen a lot more. If he just hung around much longer, he probably would have settled for a lot less than what he needs."

Abruptly, Krista flipped her hair and crossed her arms over her chest. "Well, I don't care. If he wants to leave, that's his choice. _He_ left _me_… But – " she hurried to regain her anger, "that's how life is. Who needs him, anyway?"

_You do_, Jaina thought sympathetically. "It'll be okay, Krista. I promise."

Krista looked down, rebuilding her defences with each breath. "I don't care," she insisted.

"Whatever helps you sleep at night," Jaina murmured in return.

The blonde ignored her.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar waited as the door hissed closed behind her. At the sound, Devnos looked up, and a tidal wave of emotions swept over his face when he realized the identity of his visitor. Hope, despair, relief, guilt, shame, and even a little pride – all mixed together, and quite visible in his eyes. But only for a moment; seconds later, his expression became impassive again.

Sanar had given up on understanding her brother a long time ago, but that didn't mean his behaviour did not continue to bewilder her.

"You're alive," he murmured, and she was almost certain he had not meant for her to hear. Although she couldn't hear his next words, only see his lips move, she caught the meaning behind it: _Thank the Force._

_Devnos,_ she thought sadly, _will I never know you again? What happened?_ Refusing to try to unthread Devnos' confused motivations, Sanar spoke. "Right as rain, I guess you could say. Solo brought me here in time, and the doctors found the antidote."

Devnos nodded as if in a trance. "I see. Any…after-effects?"

She hadn't even thought about that, actually. "I don't think so, but you know heroes." Sanar rolled her eyes. "They don't screw things up, like us."

His response was to smirk, but still that relief lingered in his eyes. "I guess you'll last a few more years of this joke existence, after all."

"Looks like it," she agreed quietly. Narrowing her eyes at Devnos, she stepped forward a few paces so that they were only a few metres apart. "I had my last check-up before I came here. Nothing abnormal showed up on my tests, so they let me go."

"Well, that sounds like good news," Devnos said, appearing bored, and even his relief was now gone or hidden.

"Besides the poison," she continued, "they declared me perfectly normal." She skipped a beat. "They couldn't say the same for you." She stopped to gauge his reaction, but there was none, other than an ever-so-slight increase in tension. "For a brief period, the medics detected irregularity in your brain waves' pattern."

Devnos had become as still as death.

"It could be nothing," she pushed on. "But I don't think it is. And I think you know about it."

He did not respond.

She swallowed. "Is this something that needs to be checked out, Devnos?" she asked finally, very quietly.

Devnos' entire stance screamed, but his mouth said nothing.

Obviously, the weirdness most definitely was something – something that Devnos knew about, all too well.

She searched his eyes for some kind of positive sign, but found none. Devnos was gripping the arms of his chair so tightly that his knuckles were white. His face was pale, and his Force presence was more than just chaotic – Sanar could barely touch it without losing her centre.

It looked exactly like Devnos did not want her to check what was going on. In fact, he appeared furious that she would even suggest such a thing.

But he said nothing, and Devnos had no problems with being vocal.

And so Sanar would have staked her life on Devnos desperately wanting her to set a science team to work.

"Alright, then," she whispered. "I'll get Solo to look into it."

Sanar left.

Devnos stayed.

Desperately silent.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina had been watching the conversation through the viewing glass, and although the audio had not been on, part of her was already knew Sanar's decision. However, Krista's confused face was only a step away from wretched, and the girl needed the hold onto _something_ as her defences built up, so Jaina waited for Sanar to speak.

Sanar bit her lip and fidgeted, prolonging the moment when she would uncover her dependence on someone else's goodwill. Finally deciding that she would never be good at sucking up, and that Jaina owed her enough that it was not _Jaina_ who had debts that could be called in, she began. "I told Devnos about the brain waves; judging by his reaction…it _is_ important. Very important."

Jaina leaned against a protruding divider on the viewing screen. "Did he say anything?"

"Nothing."

Jaina nodded; she understood. If it wasn't true, Devnos generally denied it. He had become something of a talker over the years. "So, what'll it be?"

Sanar began to speak; shut her mouth; looked down. Finally, she asked, "Could you…have your doctors scan him? For the cause of the anomalies?"

The Jedi smiled crookedly. "Of course, Sanar. Being a Solo has its advantages; I'm sure I can get _someone_ to fit in a CAT scan. I'll let you know when the results come in."

Sanar nodded, twisting some of her hair around her fingers. Jaina ruffled Krista's hair comfortingly, then grinned reassuringly at Sanar. "Kris here will show you to the Solo quarters, okay? I'll meet you back there in about an hour. Just make yourself at home in the meantime."

Jaina was halfway out of the door before Sanar cursed herself and her pride. Solo didn't owe her anything, anymore. _Just be gracious, like a normal person_, she scolded herself. "Wait!" she called.

Pausing and turning, Solo raised an eyebrow. "Yeah?"

_Oh, boy._ Sanar recognized the softness in Jaina's eyes; it had been a very long time since last she saw it in anyone's gaze, but…affection was something Sanar had clung to. Remembering her previous confusion about her and Jaina, Sanar now understood. She and Solo were stuck with each other. Kind of like sisters.

Kind of weird.

"Solo…well, thanks. For – you know…everything," she forced out.

It was hardly a graceful admission of gratitude, but considering Sanar had sworn off manners a long time ago, it was a pretty good one. Jaina's smile seemed to agree with Sanar's decision of its worthiness. "What are sisters for, anyway?" she replied casually. "Anytime."

Sanar would always blame it on the fact that she was healing from a nearly fatal amount of poison being sent into her lungs. Sanar Klis did _not_ get sentimental. That sort of thing was for losers and heroes.

But…she had to admit…it was kind of nice, when it all sank in.

When she realized that she wasn't alone anymore, whether she liked it or not.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_It was time._

_On the other side of the River, Kyp could feel the tug at his navel growing in insistence with each passing moment. Time, which he had lost, was beginning to trickle back to him._

_Kyp needed to find_ him_. If he didn't, everything was just another wasted attempt. And Kyp wasn't going to fail. Again. Like_ him

_No. Kyp had plans. Kyp was going to make this work, whether circumstances liked it or not._

_But it would really help if he could find the other guy. Since, after all, it was the only way things could work…_

Where are you?

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	53. Ch35: The Chip

**Chapter Thirty-Five: The Chip**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Devnos looked at the plain, metal chalice and wondered._

_Were they going to try the special water again? Was that what this was all about? Didn't they realize that it hadn't worked to the extent they wanted it to, and that it never would? Especially now that Devnos knew about it, and how to fight it, begin to counteract it, immediately._

_He had thought he was up against an unbeatable duo, who could only be taken down by a hero. But if they were just going to keep playing the old tricks…why, _Devnos_ could beat them. It wasn't nearly so difficult as he had imagined._

"_Drink it all up," Gaffil ordered, grabbing the back of Devnos' neck. His thick ring dug into Devnos' skin._

_Devnos studied the liquid, then downed it in a gulp. Grimacing at the taste, he moved to wipe his mouth with his sleeve, but then stopped._

_That hadn't been Rafintair and Gaffil's "magic" water; it had been far too bitter._

_Larifx, what had he just taken? He twisted, trying to see Gaffil, to figure out what was going on._

_Gaffil's eyes gleamed with malice._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"What do you mean, he's got a chip in his head?" Sanar demanded, hands resting insolently on her hips as she glared up at the scientists.

The leader, a humanoid with only tufts of green hair remaining on his head, shuffled nervously, and pointed at an X-ray. "Do you see this solid block, resting near his brain? It is a micro-chip, specially designed. I've never seen anything like it… That he survived the surgery of insertion is, in itself, quite unusual," Tufty-Hair added.

Sanar blinked. "Figures that our planet's only advancement would be in evil brain surgery," she muttered.

Jaina raised an eyebrow in her "sister's" direction. "Na'Lein'yhpaon is probably up and about with every world – or it would be, if Rafintair didn't ration everything, kill the geniuses, and keep the public in the dark…"

The slave shrugged. "True enough." She narrowed her eyes at the scientists. "Why have you stopped talking? I still don't know what's going on!"

"Er, yes, dreadfully sorry," the leader stammered. "Uh – while we cannot yet know what the micro-chip is meant to do, we believe it is the cause for Mr. Klis'…unusual brainwaves."

"Can you get rid of it?" Jaina demanded, leaning in to get a closer look at the X-rays.

"Get rid of it?" one of the other scientists squeaked. "But – but, Miss Solo – such a surgery… He could have barely survived the implant!"

Crossing her arms over her chest, Sanar glowered at the men. "Can…you…do it?"

Tufty-Hair took over again. "Well, _theoretically_…yes… But, Miss Klis, Miss Solo – the chances of the surgery going wrong are _very_ high."

"How high?" Jaina demanded.

"Seventy-nine percent," the third scientist answered. "Because of the micro-chip's proximity to Mr. Klis' brain, the retrieval procedure… There are so many potential, dangerous consequences – both short- and long-term. I would not advise this surgery."

Jaina could see Sanar's Adam's apple bob as she swallowed. "But…if we decided to take the chance…you have the material and expertise to do this surgery, right?" the older woman asked, painstakingly careful.

Tufty-Hair looked like he didn't even want to reply, but, at Jaina's glare, he did. "If you decided to risk it…yes. We could."

Seeing that Sanar had no intention of speaking further, Jaina thanked the men for their time and set up another meeting, later, for further discussion. It was only after she and Sanar had left the med-centre that Jaina tried to draw her companion out of her silence.

"Do you want to go see Devnos again?"

Sanar didn't even dignify that question with a response.

"Okay," Jaina said after a beat. "I'll talk to the security."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"You back again?" Devnos asked neutrally when Sanar stepped up to the bars of his detention cell. He had been moved out of the interrogation quarter when Kip had proved unreachable.

Sanar leaned against the metal bars that separated them, but watching him carefully provided little insight to his frame of mind. If anything, Devnos looked more guarded than ever, and she could barely read anything from his expression. She considered probing him with the Force, but quickly rejected the idea. Even with her connection to the Force back, she had little ability with the conventional uses of the energy source.

"The scientists finished looking at your brain," she began, dropping her eyes to the floor for a second before she raised them once more.

"Really." Devnos lay back on his thin bed, placing his threaded hands behind his head as a sort of pillow. For all the galaxy, he looked disinterested.

Sanar knew him better than that. Or she had, once, and she chose to believe that she still did. That he hadn't changed as completely as it appeared.

"Yeah. Really." She fell into silence for several minutes, lost in her thoughts. When she spoke again, her voice was foggy, almost distant. "There's a micro-chip sitting right next to your brain, and they think it's…affecting parts of you, somehow. Like, maybe your behaviour."

Devnos sat up, wrapped his arms around his knees, and stared at her intensely. "Sounds pretty crazy," he remarked flatly.

"Yeah, well, so does bacta." She lightly kicked one of the metal bars. "I asked about getting the chip out. Of your head, I mean."

Devnos stood and began to pace furiously. Sanar thought his hands might be shaking.

"Thing is," she continued, "there's a big chance it could go wrong – eighty percent likelihood. That's including long-term _and_ immediate effects, by the way. Obviously, it's pretty dangerous. At worst, you could die. But at best…I don't know." She studied him. "I guess only you know what the best case scenario is."

Devnos' entire body was shaking, and he had to sit back on his bed to avoid falling over and convulsing on the floor. His hands gripped the thin bed until his knuckles were white, and the veins in his hands and fingers stood out visibly.

"Do you want me to tell the doctors to go through with it anyway?" Sanar asked, very quietly, her hands curling around the metal bars.

Strain screamed throughout Devnos' body and mind, so loud that Sanar stepped back, flinching. But he didn't speak.

She realized, then, that he was forcing himself to stay quiet. Which could only mean one thing.

_Okay, then._ "I'll tell them," she whispered. "And I'll be back to tell you when…when the surgery is."

Before Devnos could change his mind, Sanar turned and ran out of the detention area.

In his cell, Devnos shuddered heavily and collapsed. Unconscious.

He didn't wake up for seven hours.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Miko got all the way to the Palace ship bay's entrance before he realized that he didn't have any way of getting off the planet. His own private shuttle was in one of Kuat's moon's many craters, where Krista and Zekk had picked him up. Public transport was out of the question as well, and not only because flying out of Hapes, the strongest Imperial resister in the galaxy, was suicide. What kind of double agent would he be if he was seen on a public shuttle? His cover would be blown in all of three seconds. There weren't _that_ many fully trained Dark Jedi, after all.

The last person he expected to come to his rescue, however, was Zekk, who bumped into him in the hall.

"Miko," the dark-haired man said in surprise, pushing back his necessary hood. The former Sith apprentice looked around, checking for an audience. Finding none, he asked, "What are you doing here?"

"I could ask the same of you," he blustered. "Jaina's not going to like it if you get killed and/or tortured because you decided to wander around the Palace and its surrounding areas." Miko snorted, then shook his head. "And she'd kill me if she found out that I let you. Head back to the Solo quarters, Zekk, before someone recognizes you."

Zekk brushed off Miko's command impatiently. "I need to move the _Second Chance_, and officially rent part of the bay. We kind of landed in a hurry, and I think we're blocking all of four other space crafts."

"You're going to get yourself killed," Miko despaired. "Does Jaina know what you're doing?"

"She's talking to medical research people." Zekk waved a hand dismissively. "And she just has to check if she wants to know."

Miko raised an eyebrow, but gave up. "I'm figuring out how to get off-planet. Neither private nor transport are an option, since my ship isn't here, and public ships…"

"Why don't you borrow Krista's ship? She can get off-world a lot more easily than you."

Miko winced. "Krista is not an option. I'm going cold turkey for a while."

Zekk blinked as Miko's explanation sunk in. "You're going cold turkey on a _relationship_? Are you insane?"

"No, I'm not, Mr. I-have-two-personalities," Miko retorted irritably. "I just… I need to leave before I cheat myself."

Zekk raised his hood again as he spotted a Mon Calamari private striding down the hall toward them. "Oh."

Snarling at his feet, Miko waited until the private had disappeared around the corner before he spoke again. "The whole confession just sort of…spilled all over the place. Very messy."

"It can't have gone worse than mine," Zekk offered helpfully. "Onyx let me out for a few hours to heal Jaina, and she ended up figuring it out. I had quite the time trying to convince her that a romantic relationship wasn't going to happen."

"And how long did that last?" Miko asked sceptically.

Zekk smirked, but his cheeks were red. "About twenty minutes."

Miko rolled his eyes. "Go figure. May I ask why you even tried?"

"Because," Zekk said simply. "I love her too much to hurt her, but Onyx doesn't always feel the same. Because I don't deserve her."

"If everyone got what they deserved," Miko said, "half the galaxy would be roasting, eternally, in an ocean of fire. Everyone has something to atone for."

Zekk shot the other man a peculiar, slightly suspicious look. "For a former," and he stressed the word, "Dark Jedi, you have a very unclouded view of the galaxy."

The red-haired man met Zekk's gaze unflinchingly. "My turning wasn't as unprecedented as yours, nor as dramatic. I've had more time than you to recover, and analyze everything until I'm blue in the face. But it always stays with me, just like it will with you."

Zekk seemed placated by this. "Is that why you and Krista…?"

"No. Well," Miko allowed, "maybe that's part of it. I grew up fast; she's always had some padding."

Zekk considered his next words carefully. "Krista and I were orphaned at about the same age, Miko, and…that sort of thing…it's Hell. Kris was nine when her parents were killed; maybe she puts on a bright front, but part of her…it's impossible for her to forget that."

"After nine years, though – "

"Imagine losing the two people who are supposed to always be there, right when you've reached the very beginning of adolescence. Krista has her brothers, sure, but… If she has issues with trusting people to stay, you have to understand it."

"You recovered," Miko argued, but Zekk could see that he had taken the words to heart.

"I reacted differently than Krista, that's all, and a lot more violently. I festered until I blew up as Onyx."

Miko sighed, but allowed Zekk his point. "That doesn't make it any easier."

"Don't tell me you seriously expected roses and true-forever love?" Zekk laughed out loud. "I never took you for naïve, Reglia."

"I don't suppose you have any advice?" Despite his display of backbone earlier, Miko looked downright pathetic now.

"Miko." Zekk rolled his eyes. "I've loved just one woman in my entire life, and I was lucky enough to fall for an incredible person who never gave up on me although she should have. I'm hardly the one to ask about making difficult relationships work; why don't you talk to Jaina?"

"I did."

"What did she say?"

"She told me to tell Krista."

"Well, then," Zekk said, as if that settled it. "Don't worry about it. Jaina knows what she's talking about. Usually."

Miko raised a wry eyebrow. "Someday, she's going to come crashing down from that pedestal of yours…"

"That's me the boyfriend talking," Zekk retorted, grinning. "If I didn't say it, I'd have problems. But being best friends has its advantages – I know all her secrets."

Miko smiled faintly, then looked down the hallway, back to the ship's bay. "Well, I'd best be looking for transportation."

"Here." Zekk tossed him something. "Take the _Second Chance_ to Kuat's moon. I'll pick it up later."

Miko stared down at the access card. "You sure? What if something happens? I mean, if someone leaked my betrayal, your ship is scrap. I'm not really a pilot."

"It's you who should be worried; Brakiss will have an eye out for the _Chance_. Besides, it's not like I'm _giving_ it to you. Jaina would kill me if I just gave up our ship. You're just using it to get to one place."

"Well…thanks."

"It's just docked on the west end, at the front. You shouldn't have any problem getting in; the landing master will be so relieved to get rid of the _Chance_, he'd hand her over to a dog."

"That just makes me feel all superior inside."

Zekk rolled his eyes. "Just so long as you don't get cocky and blow up my ship."

"_Your_ ship? Please. You're so whipped, it's Jaina's, not yours."

"Your point?" Zekk replied, raising an eyebrow.

Miko shook his head. "See you later, Zekk."

"Hang in there, Reglia."

"Will do." And he set off, away from Krista.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Beyond the River, Kyp had found the one for whom he was searching._

_Stepping forward, he greeted the man, and was surprised to find himself pulled into a familiar hug. "You made it, my friend!" the man exclaimed with obvious relief. "I had almost given up on you."_

_Kyp managed a smile, despite his astonishment. Why would this man, of all people, greet him in such a friendly way? No matter their connected paths, or what Kyp was to be… It was bizarre._

_And it made him feel guiltier than ever._

"_I'm afraid I was only recently let in on the…changes that are coming," Kyp admitted. "I'm sorry it took so long."_

"_Never mind; what's important is that you_ did_ make it, and with even a little time to spare. This is very good."_

_Kyp noticed an object hanging at the other man's belt. "Is that…?"_

_The other's hand went to the hilt protectively. "Indeed it is. But come. Before we do anything else, we must talk."_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	54. Ch36: Sugery and the Scent of Secrets

**Chapter ****Thirty-Six: Surgery and the Scent of Secrets**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_They had said that it would only hurt a bit, and they were right—if gut-wrenching agony that made him want to die counted as "a bit"._

_He had been put under for the surgery, but still the pain lanced through him, tearing him apart. Devnos knew they did that on purpose. _Feeling_ them dig around in his brain wasn't enough punishment for a traitor; they scraped nerves and were clumsy with tools. Sadism was instinct, for them._

_When at last it was over, the inefficient drugs wore off quickly, and Devnos woke in even more pain that he had already endured. The following day was spent with him coming back to consciousness, only to faint again, and then revive…over and over again._

_Gaffil watched it all, and, more often than not, Devnos fell back into blackness even faster at the sight of Gaffil's sneer._

_It was the sneer of a victor._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

He had done something very much like this before; Devnos supposed he shouldn't be nervous. He knew how excruciating the procedure could be, and approximately how long it would all take. This was not the same as the one _before_, and that could only work in his favour. For all he knew, he might be properly knocked out for the surgery.

But terror choked and suffocated him, like a pillow pressed against his face in the dark. Worst-possible scenarios jeered at him in his imagination: **IT** rebelling, sending Devnos into a fury mid-surgery; **IT** exploding, killing Devnos and the doctors, stopping Devnos before he could explain everything to Sanar. Gaffil's soul was as crooked as the minds of his witches and scientists; who knew what they had put in his head? Who knew what else **IT** was programmed to do? Especially if **IT** was to be stopped from doing its job?

Devnos had wondered about removing **I**—_the chip_—before, although he had never known for sure what it was. Poison, drugs, pressure on some precise point…**IT** could have been anything. Devnos had no head for science, and _brain_ science was certainly above him. All he knew was that **IT** was there, killing his soul slowly. And that he wanted – needed –**IT** gone.

Oh, _stars_ how he had wondered about **IT**s removal! Before the thought was even half-formed, however, he had been paralysed by pain. Countless other times, **IT** had probably wiped his memory of scientists who had possessed potential. The mind was a delicate thing, prone to protest if tampered with, and Gaffil's best interests lay in keeping Devnos' brain working at top condition. Sometimes, though, forced loyalty was considered more important than science.

But when Sanar just _asked_ Devnos if he wanted **IT** removed…

Very rarely was Devnos able to find the strength to rebel against **IT**. Usually, there was no point to it – all he or anyone got was torture. Rebellion was a kamikaze attempt with no cause to justify it.

Usually.

Devnos – the whole Klis family, even those who refused to acknowledge it – was fighting a war. After Jarran's death, they had lost a needed element, and indefinite defeat came hard and heavy.

It only made sense that _Sanar_, of all people, set the battlefield for the decision of all their fates.

_Thank Muj—_

**IT** squealed, **IT**s anger sending shocks through Devnos' system.

That was just one of the many, many reasons Devnos could find the strength to keep quiet against **IT**s will.

_Thank Pucijir, then,_ he thought, mocking **IT**, _for Sanar_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Devnos looked exactly as he did every day. His sister, in the viewing room, wondered what – if anything – that meant; was he nervous about the procedure and the chances of failure? Had she read his opinion of the surgery wrong, and now he cursed her for putting him through this?

It wasn't like Sanar to be torn, or even to particularly care what Devnos thought. She, personally, _needed_ to see that micro-chip removed from Devnos' brain, and to have proof, once and for all, of Devnos' innocence or monstrosity. Despite the guilt that generally came with her measures of getting what she wanted, Sanar fought for her desires. Call it a flaw.

_It was that very flaw that killed Horaire_,_ wasn't it? You murderer,_ a dark part of her whispered, taunting her. _You didn't want Clayra to be corrupted; you wanted to sacrifice yourself. Deny that you're a hero – say that you despise such people! But you love being a martyr. Why else would you kill Horaire for giving up on breaking you?_

_Shut up_, she replied, stone-faced.

Forcing her mind back to the current event, Sanar scrutinized her brother for a moment longer, then turned hesitantly to the doctor, who was conversing with Jaina and a scientist. "Ex—excuse me?"

Surgeon Qov turned, making his metal plating, which covered a side of his face and a machine that enhanced his mind, glint. Any sympathy he seemed to want to project for his patient's sister was lost in the coldness of that metal. "Yes, Miss Klis?"

"I – just – " She fumbled for words before remembering that she didn't care. Tossing her hair, she told the man, in a blasé voice, "Devnos has always been a big baby when it comes to pain, and…I have the feeling he'll really need extra drugs. You know, so he doesn't feel _anything_."

"Miss Klis!" Qov exclaimed condescendingly. "This _is_ brain surgery. I assure you: your brother should feel very little. However, he will be on the brink of a coma, rather than wake up at an inopportune moment, or…"

She tuned him out as he listed the reasons. Stupid, in-another-language, aggravating reasons. They meant nothing when her brother could very well die in the next twelve hours.

Supposedly, Devnos wouldn't feel much because of his brain being tampered with, and Sanar could rest easy. But…it was _brain surgery_, and…

No matter what he had done, Devnos was still her brother.

She looked up when Jaina tapped her on the shoulder. "Time to go," the Jedi informed Sanar.

"I – but – I want to stay here," Sanar stammered.

Jaina shook her head. "Brain surgery takes quite a while," she explained tiredly. "Up to twenty-four hours, apparently. And…well, I don't know about you, but I really don't think I could handle seeing Devnos'…headbeingdissected," Jaina finished with a rush and a shudder.

At the blunt reminder, Sanar felt her stomach flip. "I'm suddenly not feeling so well."

Placing a firm hand on Sanar's shoulder, Jaina nodded. "I know the feeling. Come on. The waiting room isn't actually that bad."

With a last look at Devnos' now pale face, Sanar let herself be ushered away.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

It had been eleven hours.

Eleven nail-biting, frantic, draining, nervous, very, very long hours.

Jaina wondered if the drama would ever end. Considering that, in the past seven months, her twin had died, Zekk had come back from the Dark side, Jaina had died and been resurrected, Leia had been revealed as _pregnant_, and Sanar had been poisoned and become a part of Jaina's family, and – well, a long list of other things – she doubted it.

_All in the job description of being a Solo_, she thought, rubbing her temples with a weary sigh.

As if in response to the sound, Sanar startled, mumbled, twisted, and then fell back asleep, now in an even more uncomfortable position than before. Still, she looked relatively peaceful, and so Jaina only adjusted Sanar's blanket so that it covered her a bit more. Someone had turned on the air conditioning in the room and, while it had initially been pleasant, the waiting room had since become something of an icebox.

Tucking the blanket under Sanar's head, just in case she slipped a little, Jaina started to sit back into her chair when she noticed a book that had fallen from Sanar's grasp. Picking it up, Jaina retreated to her seat before studying the cover.

_Soul: A Collection of Triumph_

_By Devnos Klis._

With a bittersweet smile, Jaina realized what it must be. Her Sanar-part recognized it, whispering something about long hours of scribbling down Devnos' every word when he had spun his rich tales of heroes and love and freedom. Tracing her fingers over the raised title, Jaina savoured the familiar-but-not texture of the book.

Then, glancing up to the 'fresher where Zekk had disappeared, and then to Sanar's sleeping form, she opened the book to read.

Was it so wrong to need this connection to one who was all but her brother, too?

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Devnos might be dying, and she was sleeping._ I'm a horrible sister,_ Sanar lamented._

"_Not at all," a voice soothed._

_She turned to recognize him, and her features softened into a relieved sigh. "You."_

"_Of course me," her love responded, moving closer and taking her into his arms._

"_I missed you," she managed to confess._

_His arms tightened around her. "And I you," he responded tenderly, placing a kiss on her crown. "But for now…just rest. I'll watch – over you, and for news of Devnos."_

_Sanar let herself drift in the love he provided._

"_I promise it will be okay."_

_She believed him._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina stared at the words, willed them to change, _begged_ them to be other than what she suspected.

Nothing happened.

_Jane fell, thus freeing her beloved from the shackles of Darkness. In the fury of release and the grief of his love's death, Mek struck down his once-master. He did not kill him, for the gods held him back, knowing that such an act would send the apprentice once again down a road from which Jane could no longer free him. Instead, Mek cast the Darkness and his traitor-master from his heart and soul, reclaiming the control that had so long eluded him._

"Jay? Are you alright?"

When Zekk spoke, she jumped almost a foot in the air, then released her breath in surprise. "I – I'm…" But she couldn't say the words, couldn't claim she was fine, when she was most certainly _not_ fine.

"Jaina?" Setting aside the bottle of water he had purchased, Zekk sat next to his girlfriend, rubbing her back reassuringly. "What is it?"

She swallowed, trying to find the words. Giving up, she shoved the book into his hands. "Read this part out – from 'reclaiming the control that had so long eluded him'."

Pulling his concerned gaze from her, Zekk read, " '_However, this would not be a love story if it ended here. Instead, this would be a tragedy._

"'_Even the gods do not like a tragedy – particularly when two warriors such as these are bitterly affected. Because one warrior would be gone, and the other would be a shell of his former self, the gods endowed a woman, named Sarah, with uncommon strength of soul. Touched by the grief in Mek's eyes, Sarah was able to touch the River and – _' "

Startled, Zekk's eyes raised to Jaina's. "What is this?" he demanded.

"Finish it."

He cleared his throat, then fell into silence, staring at the words as she had, moments ago. Finally, he continued. " '_…Sarah was able to touch the River and guide Jane through the act of crossing from the Land of the Dead back to the Land of the Living. Through this gift, however, the strength-endowed woman and the knight were forever tied in a bond closer than sisterhood, but stranger and stronger than anything before seen._

"'_Mek and Jane escaped to a remote location, where they renewed their strength until they could once again join the fight to free their home. In the months following – '_ "

Jaina slapped a hand over the words. "Don't read anymore," she ordered, desperate. "We can't."

The wind knocked out of him, Zekk flipped further ahead, but did not read the words. "It goes on for pages and pages," he said hoarsely, as if in a trance. "Stang. Jay…there's even a part two, three, four…" Closing the book, he stared at the cover without seeing it. "What is this?" he whispered, looking up at Jaina.

He knew, of course. How could he _not_? But he needed to hear it from her. Needed to be assured that he wasn't crazy.

"It's our story," she managed to say through a sound that was half-sob, half-choke. "_Our story_."

Zekk swallowed hard; he tried to release the book but, although his hands shook, he couldn't. "Who – what – "

"Devnos wrote it," Jaina croaked. "_Years_ ago. When Sanar – when I was…three at the most."

The couple stared at each other, then at the book.

"He knew," Jaina whispered at last. "Before…everything…Devnos _knew_."

It made no more sense when she said it.

Jaina and Zekk could not tear their eyes away from the book.

Then Zekk's hands gave way, and the book tumbled to the ground with an eerie, final sounding _thud_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

(Beyond the River)

"_How much do you understand?"_

_Kyp stalled. "Of the prophecy? Well, I know the basics – the goal."_

"_But not the means," the other man finished wearily._

"_I need to know," Kyp pushed. "And I need to…understand. Why? Why _me_?"_

_The other man, years dead after his own failure, studied his replacement. "You know that I was the original choice. You shouldn't have been burdened with this."_

"_But I killed you, and Sanar…Sanar couldn't bring you back."_

"_No body entails no return, and so a new man was required." Kyp's companion gave a humourless smile. "Sanar is a good girl, but…" His mind drifted to the beyond and the past for a moment. "Perhaps it is better this way. Caesarea wasn't ready – "_

"_What does she have to do with this?" Kyp demanded, catching the scent of a secret._

" – _and I didn't fit the Sildar's requirements perfectly," the other finished, ignoring Kyp's question._

_Distracted from his suspicion, Kyp argued, "You were – are – a far better man than I."_

"_That is Sanar's opinion," the man corrected fondly, "and somewhat distorted by my position in her life. But the Sildar demands more than integrity, anyway. Sucking someone's soul in vengeance…judgement and damnation…it requires great strength, and much more, to exact that sort of thing, and stay alive, let alone sane."_

"_Like…?"_

"_Power," the other replied, simply. "Death on your hands – three counts of it: personal, murder, annihilation of some kind."_

_Kyp stepped back as if he had been punched in the gut. "That's why I was chosen?" The demand was weak, hoarse. "Because I'm a monster?"_

"_No! No…although it was through your darkest moment that you received this task. You were chosen because you are the only possible alternative. You killed me, and so you shouldered my responsibility. Do you think this hasn't been planned out from the very beginning? Your make-up, your weakness in the face of Exar Kun, even your years in the spice mines? Everything in your life moulds you into the person you must be._

"_The reason you were chosen is because the Strings – the Force – will gamble, every once in a while, if it must. What are the chances of me being killed by the one other person who fits the Sildar's requirements? Incredible. But what are the chances of you _repeating_ such an event?" The other man sobered. "Impossible."_

_Kyp raised his chin. "I won't fail."_

_Jarran Klis smiled tiredly. "Good."_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	55. Ch37: The Beginning of the End

**Chapter ****Thirty-Seven: The Beginning of the End**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Devnos' life passed in a dream as he stepped back into the normal routine. Gaffil and his lackeys hadn't killed him, but Devnos was almost certain that death would have been preferable to this unknown menace._

_There were whispers in his mind._

_They had appeared after that terrifying, painful surgery; their voice was unfamiliar, but deadly. He couldn't decipher the words yet, but already he knew they weren't good._

_Sleep – which had already been short in hours – had deserted him, and even Sanar, who hadn't been speaking to him for some time, had asked if he was alright. Her concern, though awkwardly hidden, had been genuine._

_That had been the worst part of the entire adjustment period. Devnos' heart had wanted to throw his arms around his sister, and thank her for being yet uncorrupted. His more selfish wish had been to bawl into her shoulder, explain why he was doing the things he did, why he had adopted such a cold attitude to her. He had wanted her to_ understand_ – maybe even accept – his choice._

_Instead, he had heard himself tell her, "Get back to your washing, niftyax." Then, through horrified eyes, he had watched his arms shoot out and throw her away from him._

_Her gaze, startled, furious, defeated, lost, was permanently burned into his mind._

"_F—fine, then," she had stammered in response, trying to regain her balance from the attack. "Who c—cares about—you—anyway?"_

_Sanar did. After thirteen years of him being the protective big brother, the one who read her beloved stories to her, she did._

_That was when Devnos began to truly loathe himself._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

A throat was politely cleared, and Jaina pulled away from Zekk's embrace, bleary-eyed. Glancing up, she noticed that Zekk was also awake, and staring ahead. Rubbing the sleep from her eyes, she detangled herself, nearly falling off the couch in the process. Recognizing the man before her, however, sent adrenaline zooming back into her bloodstream the way no caffeine could.

Turning away (_no news is good news_), Jaina wryly asked Zekk, "How long have I been out?"

Zekk shrugged, recognizing her stalling technique. "An hour or two – just dozing. You should probably wake Sanar up. I'd do it, but I don't relish dying."

"Oh, and I'm expedient, is that it?" Jaina teased, still ignoring the man who had woken her.

"Nah, you're safe. She's got to have a thing about killing family, or Devnos would be dead by now."

Jaina's expression abruptly became stormy with knowledge and memories that weren't her own. "She has a thing for murder, period."

The darkness stayed on her face only a moment longer, and then she sighed. "Well, no time like the present," she admitted.

Zekk managed a smile. "How bad can it be?"

Jaina didn't deign that false optimism with a response. Standing, she crossed the room to Sanar's couch, shaking the woman's shoulder firmly. "The surgery's…over?" She checked with the surgeon, who nodded.

When she looked back, Sanar had startled awake, looking like she had had too much caffeine. "Well?" she demanded. "What is it? Is he alright?"

"He hasn't said yet," Jaina responded with a grimace.

"Oh…well, obviously," Sanar retorted scathingly, trying to hide her anxiety. "Why should he tell you?"

"I'm just a Solo," Jaina agreed, deadpanned.

Although sympathetic, Zekk broke into the bantering. "When you two are done avoiding the news…" He gestured to the surgeon.

"Right," both girls said at the same time, then turned startled, wry grins on the other.

"If I might…?" Surgeon Qov trailed off, swallowing, as if what he was about to tell the two women suddenly hit him.

"Hit us up," Jaina ordered wearily.

"Ah, yes, well – the good news is that we successfully retrieved the micro-chip." Qov forced a smile that was painful to watch. When his audience only stared at him, he continued. "However, there were…complications."

"Of course," Jaina commented, her voice flat. Sanar continued to stare, mouth agape.

"That is, the chip…reacted. Upon being removed from its place near Mr. Klis' brain, a part of it…overheated." Qov only just contained his wince.

"What…what's the damage?" Zekk asked quietly, heart unexpectedly sore. He didn't care for Devnos – he never had, even as Onyx – but the pain in both Jaina and Sanar's eyes was enough to strike him with uncommon force.

"We managed to move the chip away to spare most of Mr. Klis' higher brain functions – thought, memory, etc – but it…it did cause significant damage."

"'Significant damage'," Sanar repeated listlessly. "Larifx. Isn't that the way it always is?" Her head sunk into her hands dejectedly.

"I won't – bore you with details," Qov continued bravely. "But…"

Jaina glanced at Sanar, then back to Qov, narrowing her eyes. "How long?"

Zekk winced at the tone of her voice.

Qov slipped his fists into his coat pockets. "Well – that depends – on his stress levels, and how hard he pushes himself, and – "

"_How. Long._"

The surgeon swallowed. "If he stays unconscious…we can't guess. But once he wakes up – a few days." His words were greeted with silence. "A week, at most," he finished. "I'm very sorry."

"You're _sorry_?" Jaina seethed, spine erect in fury. "That's _it_? You screw up, and you get off on a weak apology? You're the best in your field here; you're paid billions – _fix him_!"

"I…I can't," Qov stammered. "The brain is so delicate – I would only make things worse, at this point."

In the face of Jaina's responding anger, Sanar was ignored for the moment.

It saved her from having to hide the stunned horror that played over her face.

Sanar remembered the agreement papers she had signed before the surgery.

Remembered how she had kept pushing for this – for the truth.

But had it all been so bad, not knowing? Had Devnos really needed that chip out of his head? Or was it just her, being selfish, looking for an explanation – any explanation – because she was still a stupid, naïve girl who worshipped her big brother, and didn't want to believe he could do anything wrong?

_Oh, gods, Force, Mujir, Larifx…_

_I signed my brother's death warrant._

Sanar let Jaina be angry, argue Devnos' fate, fight the reality.

Sanar only had enough to strength to keep the tears from cascading down her face.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"_You had better take this," Jarran mused, taking his sword from its sheath._

_Kyp stared at it, then finally, reluctantly, took it. "I suppose it's important," he agreed, but his sarcasm wasn't as confident as usual._

"_Do not let anyone else brandish it," Jarran warned._

_Grimly, Kyp smirked. "You don't have to tell_ me_ that."_

"_You might be tempted to give it up – the Sildar requires more than you can imagine," Jarran pressed. "But you are the only one who can carry it."_

"_I'm not going to give the handle to anyone," Kyp retorted. "The blade is the only part anyone will touch."_

"_The handle is as deadly as any part," Sanar's father reminded his replacement._

"_Then what's the worry? I couldn't get rid of it if I_ wanted_ to."_

"_Others…" Jarran hesitated. "Allies may not believe you – they might try to take it from you."_

_Kyp swallowed. "If it comes to that – and I pray it won't – then I will stop them."_

_Jarran sighed, but did not enlighten the younger man. Everyone tried, but one man could only do so much. Eventually, there was always a sacrifice._

Sacrifice.

_The word struck him to the core, and Jarran dared to say more than he had meant to. "Of all the people, Sanar can_ never_ know the Sildar's touch."_

_Kyp's grip on the Sildar tightened until his knuckles shone as white as the moonlight. "Her, of all people, I won't… I_ couldn't_."_

_Jarran's shoulders slumped. How to say everything – how to prepare Kyp – without saying more than was allowed? "You will need her. The entire planet – the entire_ galaxy_ – could be against you, but if you have Sanar's aid – "_ and more, _Jarran inserted silently, "you cannot lose."_

_Again, with that scent of secrecy. Kyp eyed Jarran with renewed suspicion. "You distracted me from my question before; what is Sanar's part in this? I am the only one who has a defined role – "_

_What a fool. Jarran pitied the man, although he could somewhat understand. "There are…many things…that you cannot see, Kyp," Jarran settled upon saying. "Everyone has their story." Jarran's mind drifted again and his next words were said unconsciously, sadly. "Sanar will be able to do what her mother was too weak to do."_

"_And what's that, dammit?" Kyp demanded. "Give me a straight answer!"_

_Because he had requested the complete truth and nothing but that, Jarran kept his silence._

_Groaning in frustration – would he ever be able to get the entire truth from one of the Klis'? – Kyp stared at the Sildar, searching for a new question. Preferably one that would help him, but that Jarran would still answer. "Did the messenger ever know about you being the first one?"_

_Jarran's lips tipped up at the corners. "No. Devnos never knew."_

So many secrets for one, simple thing,_ Jarran considered, weary._

_He was getting tired of secrets…but what could he do? The Force demanded much of its children._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Wake up._

Devnos fought the call. Parts of him hurt – from intrusion, from phantom pains, from past deeds – and he didn't want to face reality. Although he couldn't remember quite why he was sore (ignoring the reason was the key to escaping it), he didn't want to find out. He was quite certain it wouldn't be pleasant, and life loved screwing him over.

_Wake up now!_

_No_, he replied firmly. _I am most definitely_ not_ waking up._

"**You had better take this."**

"**I suppose it's important."**

Devnos heard his own groan, and knew he would be awake very soon. _No, no, no, no, no, no, no, NO! Not fair!_

_No rest for the weary_, the Strings chided.

He sighed. _It's 'no rest for the _wicked_'._

_Oh, that doesn't apply to you_, they chorused. _Not entirely. But it's time to wake up._

"Don't make me," he pleaded in half a voice.

He had made the mistake of trusting their sympathy. When next he heard the Strings' voice, it was a caustic roar. _WAKE UP! Don't you humans love your shining moment? Here comes yours, you lunkhead. You've played around with enough; it's time for you to give up your petty attempts to stop what is coming._

"For something that once cared about Sanar," he muttered, opening his eyes through his exhaustion, "you have no compassion."

The Strings did not reply; Devnos hadn't expected them to. Besides, he had heard all their excuses – they had given their precious Sanar her hero-love; humans were so resistant to a normal chain reaction; Devnos didn't deserve compassion when he had tried to sabotage their plans.

He'd heard everything – even said them to himself. And he was sick of it all. Sick of the truth.

_I'll never be able to change a thing._

A second later, Devnos understood why the Strings had woken him: he had come to the last stretch of his pathetic life.

But he was free of **IT**.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	56. Ch38: The Truth

**Chapter ****Thirty-Eight: The Truth**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_It took him a disgusting amount of time to figure out what those sick wafthas had done to him._

Those—!_ But he couldn't curse them the way he wanted to, because they had done something so depraved to his mind that he could never recover, never adjust or fight his way out._

//"Promise me you'll watch out for them, Devnos. Be strong."//

_They had destroyed him, and rendered his promise to his father – even his love for his family – to something laughable._

_So he was forced to watch it all. He watched his corruption, and fought against the tide of his fury and helplessness, only to find false sanctuary in the Dark side._

_He watched Sanar give up on him, hate him._

_Watched Clayra begin to fear him._

_Watched as his mother sensed a "kryntath" in her son, and begin to bow to his wishes._

_Watched._

_As he became a monster from his nightmares._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Lowbacca enjoyed his work with the Hapes Research Team. While true that sometimes the humans searched for more complicated answers than the ones they had found, Lowie's family had always been close to humans, and he was used to such pursuit. Humans would always search for complications. And it was true that sometimes the work could be disheartening, particularly when the answers could not be discovered until after they were required.

But he had found his niche in figuring out something predictable, something that wouldn't change with time and death and war. There would always be problems to solve – riddles to explain. Sometimes he was able to do that on a computer, his favourite time, but Lowie was flexible. Challenges were enjoyed in all their venues.

When the riddle struck deep in the heart of a friend, however, Lowie took no time to revel in the mysteries that surrounded him. The request of explanation not only came at the behest of a friend, but from Jaina Solo – someone Lowbacca had sensed passing into the next plane of existence.

And there was always the matter of honour, with his uncle's life debt to Han Solo. Although Chewbacca had been the one to make the promise, all of his family kept a closer eye on the Solo family than was necessary. When Lowie had met the Solo twins, he had not known exactly what to expect, but he found friends. Time and war had tested those bonds severely – not just with the Solos, but with Tenel Ka, Lusa, and even Raynar, before his death. Events of the past six years' nature changed any being, but humans morphed in a particularly obvious way.

Lowbacca watched it all – Tenel Ka's struggle to find a balance between her calling and her own desires, Jaina's stubborn refusal to give up on Zekk, Jacen's quest for answers, Lusa's loss of self. Many times, he had found himself surprised as the humans (and half-humans) reached new levels of desires for complex things.

He had never let go of his affection and loyalty to them, however, nor them in regards to him.

That didn't mean he wasn't bemused by this microchip, or by Jaina Solo's connection to a captive Dark Jedi and his sister. It wasn't, of course, of any matter. She cared, and that was persuasive enough.

"Any luck?" a humanoid tech asked, breaking into Lowbacca's concentration on the wiring of the salvaged chip.

Artificial Intelligence, Lowbacca grunted. Not meant for simple use, though. It was designed for a specific purpose.

Frowning in concentration, the tech managed to understand the Wookiee's words. "AI? What, to increase the guy's intelligence, maybe?"

Lowbacca shook his shaggy head. No. Different. He pulled a few wires aside, then tapped down a microscope over his right eye, studying what the parted wires revealed. It appears to be a control device.

"Mind-control?" The tech's voice raised in pitch. "We're dealing with mind-control?"

I am not yet certain, but the AI appears to be designed to monitor thought, movement and speech in particular.

"Imperial design?" the humanoid asked nervously. Lowbacca wondered if the human had had too much caffeine.

No. I have not seen this style before, but it is too bulky for Imperials. Lowbacca searched for the proper explanation. The Empire likes smooth, efficient.

The tech had been joined by another scientist, an Ithorian, who now spoke. "Any idea of where it might be from?"

Lowbacca eyed the chip with curiosity before barking, It isn't from a planet that has shared information – or been spied upon – by the New Republic. What is this human's planet?

The tech, jittery, and anxious to get away from the idea of mind-control, offered, "I'll go check his profile."

If it isn't there, ask Jaina Solo or Sanar Klis, Lowbacca growled.

"Until we have the origins, try to nail down the specifics," the Ithorian told Lowbacca in its calm voice. "This man doesn't have long to live, and I'm sure his sister would like some closure on his motives before…" She checked her data-board, "Mr. Klis meets his untimely demise."

Barking quietly in acknowledgement, Lowbacca set back to work.

Why would anyone attempt mind-control on a Dark Jedi?

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"…It serves a double purpose of retrieving information – its access to your brother's mind is unlimited – and…controlling his reactions to events."

Sanar and Jaina gaped.

The Ithorian scientist, Yellis, continued, eyes rimmed with exhaustion. "Although it cannot determine Devnos' impulses and instincts at the initial stage, nothing happened in this man's mind without the chip picking up on it. As best we can determine, the micro-chip did not censor Devnos' every word and movement, but specific topics or emotions were stopped even before they could grow into acknowledged form. I'm afraid, however, that only Devnos can tell us exactly to what the chip was designed to put a stop."

"So he just…put up with this?" Jaina asked in a hoarse, dry voice.

"Well, perhaps, but if he didn't, the chip was designed to stimulate his nerves – create a private chamber of Hell, almost – until he backed off. If that didn't work…there is some evidence of memory-sweeping technology."

Jaina muttered something that wasn't generally heard in polite society. No one was clear-headed enough to admonish her – certainly not her parents, who were trying to comprehend that this sort of thing had happened to someone their daughter knew. "What does that mean, exactly?" Jaina asked, clenching her hands in fists.

"Apparently, if Devnos got too…difficult…the chip would simply wipe the cause of his strength of mind from his memory. He wouldn't remember a thing."

In unison, Jaina and Sanar took shuddering breaths, releasing them with wounded cries. "This isn't…happening," Sanar choked out. "It – it _can't_ be…"

"How long has that – thing – been in him?" Leia found her voice to ask.

Yellis hesitated. "Well, we can't be sure – we have nothing to compare it with – "

"But…" Zekk led.

"Years," the Ithorian confessed. "A decade – perhaps longer."

Jaina seemed to crumple right before the others' eyes, and again Sanar's quiet, stunned reaction was not immediately noticed – which was how she wanted it.

Sanar wanted to move, but she could barely even breathe.

Yellis was wrong; it hadn't been a decade. Now that Sanar looked back, she could pinpoint the _exact_ day Devnos had received the damned chip.

Or, at least, the last day she had seen him before he had had the depraved thing implanted in his head.

He had been seventeen – back from the Holy Brother grounds for four months, seventeen days. She had hated Devnos when he returned from that place – he had been hard, when she had _needed_ him. It had been a few days after the first time Horaire tried to –

But Sanar wasn't thinking about him. Horaire was dead (_murdered_).

Devnos was still alive.

_For a while_.

All this time…for fifteen years… Sanar had noticed the abrupt change. True, upon his initial arrival, Devnos had been cold. But it hadn't taken him long to soften again, to wink at her when Horaire wasn't looking, to glare at the High Priest when he bullied Clayra or their mother. She had peeked out from under her defences, wondering if maybe his initial behaviour had been some kind of cruel joke.

He didn't know that, of course – she hadn't spoken to him from the first time he snapped at Clayra – but she had been so relieved. She hadn't needed to be the only one who fought the regime.

Until they came for Devnos, just when Sanar had been about to go up to him and ask if it was okay. If they were going to be okay, even though Daddy was gone, and Horaire looked at them all in a way that made Sanar feel very, very cold. They had arrived before her, though, and she had let them take him, because, she had told herself, what could she do against two Holy Brothers?

_I should have torn them limb from limb._

Jaina provided a distraction from Sanar, and the older woman vaguely wondered if the Jedi did it on purpose.

_Of course she is_, a voice whispered. _She knows you. She cares. When are you going to learn that your family is never what it seems?_

Miserable, Sanar poorly consoled herself with the fact that her mother was, had been, and always would be, weak.

_Mama. The one constant._

Sanar found herself longing for before – when she hadn't known about Devnos, when she hadn't cared about Solo or her boyfriend, or anything.

Why couldn't life just be black-and-white again? Was that such a bad thing to want?

The doctors kept trying to put Devnos back to sleep, the Strings kept waking him up, and Devnos was running out of time.

He could feel it – his life, being measured out with each second. He didn't think the Force would let him die before he played his part, but there was always that chance.

Devnos was expendable – a fact he knew all too well. And not only could he be replaced, but he had tried to change things – a complication he doubted the Strings enjoyed.

_Now, if the doctors would just let me stay awake long to ask…_

As if by his request, Devnos felt himself being tugged back into consciousness. "Stars, man!" he heard a doctor exclaim. "Stay asleep, already!"

"I…I need to…" His parched throat tried to silence him, but hadn't counted on a nurse giving him a little water. "I have to talk – to my…sister," Devnos garbled.

Suddenly, he wondered if she would even come. The truth of the matter was, he could hardly blame her if she had forgotten his existence the second she left his cell to order the surgery.

_You wouldn't do that, would you?_ he fretted to the Strings. _Make me fight for so long, then deny me the chance to warn her?_

"Your sister?" the nurse fished. "Which one?"

Momentarily, he couldn't get past his confusion. Had Clayra somehow escaped, and now she was with Sanar? That made no sense – the Jirs would never let all the Klises get away. But he was tired, and so he only elaborated, "Sanar." Prying his eyes open, he did his best to glare the Twi'lek nurse into submission. "I _need_ to talk to her. Right away. Alone. Don't – don't try to drug me again."

The Twi'lek looked to her superior, searching for reassurance. "I – I don't know if – "

_Stupid girl, just let me talk to her before I cross over._

Inspiration hit, and he struggled to grasp the Force long enough to rattle the medical tools on the nurse's tray. "I'm not playing around, lady," he growled. "In case you haven't read my file, I don't _have a lot of time_."

The doctor must have nodded his harried consent, because the nurse scurried out of the room.

_How useful of her_, Devnos mused.

Relishing the lack of **IT** berating him for commending a "niftyax".

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"No."

Sanar's head twisted as she took in, with a hefty dose of scepticism, Solo's scowl. "Why not?"

"Um…let's see," Jaina retorted sarcastically, "maybe because you nearly died because of him?"

"She's right," Zekk offered, frowning worriedly.

Sanar rolled her eyes. "Of course you think that – you're a sap. If you didn't agree with your _girlfriend_, I'd think you'd had a lobotomy." She paused. "But it was Devnos who had said surgery – more or less. Come on, he's safe now, remember?"

Both of Cerasy's hands rested on the individual hilts of two of her blasters. "Look, Sanar, it's just that…we can't be sure of how much Devnos' behaviour was affected by the chip. Until we do, don't you think you should see him with someone else?"

Shooting the bounty hunter a dirty look, Sanar retorted, "Oh, sure, I'll just wait until he's _dead_." She levelled her stare on the nurse who had brought Devnos' request. "Where is he?" she asked,

The Twi'lek, her lekku twitching at the others' obvious disapproval, gestured for Sanar to follow her.

Ignoring her companions' protests, she did.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Kyp felt the tug strengthen into a fierce pull, and he knew it was time to go and wait._

_Before he could leave, however, Jarran grabbed his arm, making him stop. "I have one more request – a personal one," the man began._

_Casting a longing look to the River's dark waters, Kyp nonetheless paused. "I killed you – you kind of have unlimited favours to call up," he pointed out dryly._

_Jarran shrugged his words off. "It's about Sanar…"_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	57. Ch39: The Truth, Part II

**I wanted to apologize for the long break between posts--I went on a family vacation, then came back to a crashed harddrive and a busy job. I did recover all my work, however, so there shouldn't be any further problems.****  
**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_**  
**

**Chapter ****Thirty-Nine: The Truth, Part Two**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_And this is how, you remind me  
Of what I really am  
This is how, you remind me  
Of what I really am_

_It's not like you to say sorry  
I was waiting on a different story  
This time I'm mistaken  
For handing you a heart worth breaking  
And I've been wrong, I've been down,  
Been to the bottom of every bottle  
These five words in my head  
Scream "are we having fun yet?"_

-Nickleback

---

_He became used to it – what other choice did he have?_

_Devnos became accustomed to the glares Sanar sent his way, to sometimes forgetting how light Clayra's voice became when she was happy. He even grew desensitized to his mother's continued grief – and hatred, for Jarran had left her – for his father._

_He learned how much pain __**IT**__ demanded he inflict – how much hatred __**IT**__ wanted him to portray._

//"If you can't do it…you know who can, Devnos. Trust your sister."//

_His father's final words before he had left for Carida. Devnos couldn't think too long on such things – __**IT**__ tried to corrupt them, or pick them apart – but sometimes, when he couldn't sleep, when Sanar slipped and sent him a terrified look…_

_He wondered –_

_If Jarran had known about the prophecy (how could he have?)._

_If there was some way Devnos could save Sanar, even with whatever Gaffil Jir had put in his head._

_If…_

_If he was crazy._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar came.

For a moment, all Devnos could take in was that simple proof that she still cared, if just a little. That not all was lost.

That he might be able to warn her.

But then her expression sank in, and he realized with a pang that she knew, somehow, that this was it. The end – for him, anyway. **IT** wasn't there to silence his cracking heart, but now that he was free he had no time to try to make up for lost time.

Best to be blunt, to say it all quickly, and get it out of the way.

"I'm a statistic, aren't I?" he remarked, trying to be gentle.

She nodded.

He doubted she meant for him to see her tremble, and he reached out a hand, hoping she would take it, even though – had their places been reversed – he doubted he would have. When her hand slipped into his grasp, he closed his eyes, and his face tightened in resignation. "Well, then, I suppose there isn't much time, is there?"

Sanar sat down. He appreciated that she knew this would take a long time, but he wished the content of their final conversation could be very different.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina needed to work off the nervous energy that came from knowing that her sister was alone – unprotected – with Devnos. The news that Kip had collapsed, and had yet to wake up, was Force-sent, if not completely bemusing. Encouraging Zekk to talk to Krista, both in comfort and about his work, Jaina set off for the clone's section of the General Illnesses Ward.

Peering past the curtains, she noted that he slept still, with sweat beading his brow, and something distinctly _wrong_ in his Force aura.

Slipping into his only partially private area, Jaina sat on the nearby stool and considered Kip, who, she saw now, was not asleep but staring straight ahead, unmoving. She thought about the only known warning sign of Kip's collapse: the curious lack of which Kip had spoken. Kip was a clone; true, he seemed to possess a soul, but there had always been something distinctly inhuman – almost robotic – about him.

_A soul_.

Could the Empire manufacture such an ambiguous, mortal thing? Was that possible? Jaina had thought so, but she had never devoted much time to the idea, or even to the morality of such a thing.

Kip had insisted that he was physically and mentally well.

Did he have a healthy spiritual side, though?

Jaina scrutinized the face she knew so well, that she had always connected to another being completely.

Kyp Durron. Kip.

Fire. Ice.

The clone was so very little like its original matter, but there had always been a likeness, even in the difference. So Kip must have a soul, because if he hadn't, he would have been little more than a droid.

Droids didn't rebel against their makers; Kip and his brother clones had.

Jaina studied Kip, and began to understand.

Losing one's soul must create a Sarlacc's pit of lack.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Devnos didn't know where to begin. Perhaps some of this inability could be blamed on **IT**, which hadn't allowed him to even think such things with privacy, and without pain. But…

Sanar watched and waited, and tried to hide the desperate longing she felt. Devnos saw it, anyway, and impulsively embraced her. "I'm sorry, Brownie," he whispered into her shoulder.

She had instinctively tensed, but just as quickly threw her arms around him. "I _knew_ something was wrong; I should have…I…"

He pulled back reluctantly. "There was nothing you could have done. Believe me: nothing. Gaffil – "

"Gaffil?" Sanar's expression was furious. "What does that _warftha_ have to do with this?"

Devnos grimaced. "The snake – " Oh, he was going to enjoy being able to insult the Jir dynasty again " – and his brother were the ones who did this."

"I will _kill_ them," Sanar hissed. "I'll rip them apart, tissue by tissue, until they can't even _scream_, and – "

He shook his head, sobering quickly at the reminder. "Rafintair and Gaffil will get exactly what's coming to them, Sanar, but it can't be at your hands."

She scowled, standing so abruptly that her chair fell to the ground. "I think the past years have given me more than the right to disobey you, Devnos."

"Sanar…" His tone had become warning, exasperated, instinctively hard, and he corrected it quickly. "You can't."

"Why not?" she demanded, jutting her chin out defiantly.

"Because – " He stopped and shook his head. "Later. I'll explain everything, but…let me set this up, or it'll all come out palooza."

Sanar grinned brilliantly, her smile almost blinding him. "'Palooza,'" she echoed, and her eyes shone. "A big mess."

"Yeah, yeah, _ploza_," he corrected painstakingly, "but you know I can't – "

"You've said it right for the past fifteen years, Devnos," she reminded him. "I haven't heard you say 'palooza' since the last time you tried to explain the state of your room to Mom, before Daddy – " she faltered " – before they took Daddy away."

Devnos stared at his hands, unable even to watch the grief that still laced her every breath. He wanted to grieve with her, to miss his father the way she did, but he had lost that right. He wasn't worthy of untainted emotion.

"Devnos," Sanar whispered, drawing his eyes back up to her. Her eyes were dark, wide and unusually vulnerable. "You are…normal again, right? I mean, if this is some nightmare technique to break me, my hopes aren't going to get any higher than they are, so you may as well crow 'joke's on you' right now."

Devnos' face turned pale, and his eyes clouded into a dark, dirty grey with pain. "I swear I'm not."

She fidgeted with the edge of his crisp white sheets, then seemed to come to a decision. "Then you have a lot of explaining to do."

He sighed. "I know."

"A _lot_," she insisted stubbornly.

"More than you know," he told her, sitting back in his bed. "But I'll start with the stuff you expect."

Sanar crossed her legs and folded her arms over her chest – protective.

Devnos wondered if she knew, somehow. Shaking the thought out of his head, he found a thread and began. "How much do you remember from when Father was…taken?"

Sanar's eyes darkened. "Our town had rejected Pucijir's Order, but then Rafintair and his goons found out about us, and moved in, waiting for us to slip up. Everything changed. There were so many raids…and people kept disappearing…and then, one day, they cut down _our_ door." She rubbed her eyes viciously, as if trying to cut out the memories. "They said Daddy was a heretic, but for some reason they didn't kill him – just exiled him. At first we were allowed to stay in the town Correction Centre, but when Daddy was killed…" Her face became hard. "Mama, Clayra and I were moved to Quatroc, and placed under Horaire's care. You got sent to some 'proper' family, away from us."

Devnos chewed on the inside of his cheek, drawing in her spotty explanation. "Our town was the centre of Mujir's Resistance, Sanar."

"Mujir's Resistance?" Sanar repeated, surprised. "But…that's in Quatroc. I know." She paused. "I was _part_ of it, when possible."

Of course she had been; Sanar needed to know those people. _You just planned everything so perfectly, didn't you, Strings?_ "It was moved when discovered in Brin. But it was started right at home – by Father."

"_Daddy_?"

"Yes. Father created perhaps the first organized, long-enduring resistance in the history of Pucijir's Order." Devnos allowed himself a victorious smirk. "When Father was going to university, he befriended a Jedi, who had come to scout out NLY."

"Jaina hadn't even heard of Na'Lein'yhpaon before I saved her butt," Sanar interrupted. "It might not even be on a map."

"A Jedi from the Old Republic," Devnos clarified. "I think he was looking for a place to hide fellow Jedi after the Clone Wars. But that isn't important.

"Father learned about organized defence tactics and moral codes from that guy, I guess, because when he left the university, he had already persuaded several of his friends – students – of the immorality of Pucijir's Order. They set up at Brin, where they could plan treason and protect their families at the same time. Their numbers grew surprisingly quickly. The Force wanted Father to succeed."

Sanar didn't even blink at the last statement, and Devnos winced; that she didn't hear the foreshadowing in it showed how little idea she had of what was coming. "But the Force couldn't protect the Resistance from traitors. A woman from our village was captured when she travelled to the Quatroc; she had been too brash in the marketplace, acting 'above herself'."

"Harras," Sanar realized. "She was the mother of one of my friends. They disappeared first."

He sighed wearily. "Yes. Harras. She betrayed our secret and our location. The Holy Brothers must have tortured her, because she loved freedom too much to give up information easily. It wasn't long before Holy Brothers swarmed into Brin."

"Why did Daddy survive discovery? As the leader…"

"That's the thing. Father was discovered because he defended Mama from public humiliation when she didn't wear her hair veil. The Brothers told him that Pucijir demanded punishment. Father drew a sword on them. They never found out that he was the head of their snake until they had already shipped him to Carida."

"Oh, Larifx," Sanar muttered. "Now I know why we have no luck; Daddy spent the Klis quota for generations to come."

Devnos forced a smile. "Their discovery of Father's importance is why we were moved to Horaire's care. Even for a High Priest, Horaire was sadistic and fanatical. They were counting on him to break us all." Devnos looked down. "You especially, though."

"Obviously." Sanar's voice was hollow.

"I wasn't a problem, with the chip," Devnos explained. "And Clayra and Mama…" He laughed bitterly. "What trouble did they ever cause? Mama wilted the second Father disappeared, and Clayra became more introverted and terrified with each second. You were the only one who fought it."

"Why did they move you?"

"To that other family?" Devnos shrugged. "I kept quiet, mostly, but they knew I'd kill them if I had half a chance. They tried to be subtle with my brainwashing though; they didn't want to waste time on me, I guess." He paused. "Besides separating me from you, Mama and Clayra, and placing me with a 'proper' family, they made sure I had a healthy dose of altered water."

"Huh?"

"That river that ran through our village? It was special. Very much so. Because of some of the plants that combined in its waters, a…chemical of sorts was created, which encouraged midi-chlorian growth. It's why so many villagers were Force-sensitive, if only a little, even if they wouldn't normally even be able to feel a _loved one_ die. When Rafintair and Gaffil got their hands on it, they added some more chemicals that make the drinker susceptible to persuasion, and which encourages loyalty, even while it gave their allies strength.

"When they thought I was tamed, they sent me back. It didn't last as long as they hoped," Devnos added. "And they got a little worried." His face closed, darkening. "So they created an extreme, something that I couldn't possibly fight." Quiet for several moments, he stared at his hands.

How much longer did he have?

"I knew something was wrong," Sanar murmured. "I can even pinpoint the exact day that they took you away – maybe even the day they put it in. But I was just so mad – " She growled. "My temper is _always_ getting the better of me."

He looked up to see tears in her eyes, and another part of his heart broke. He had so little of it left, now. "I deserved your silence. Don't regret it."

"I can't help it," she replied miserably. Her weakness lasted only a second in the open. "I'm _better_ than you; I've always been better than you. It's _my job_ to protect this family, and I always screw it up."

"I'm the oldest," he countered. "Looking out for the pip squeaks is _my_ responsibility."

"Oh, because you've done such a bang up job of protecting us," she sneered.

Devnos flinched. "Point for Miss Obvious." Sighing, he added, "I'm too tired to argue with you."

Sanar, who had been preening at victory, plummeted back to the Hapes Medical Centre. "Are you okay?"

"Ironic, isn't it, how just a few days ago I was asking you the same thing?"

She stared at him, and he wondered if she knew how much the expression on her face multiplied his guilt.

"I've felt worse, if it's any consolation," he said. "Really, I'm just run down."

Her face seemed to crumble. "It's all my fault. If I had just left the whole chip thing alone, you – "

" – would still be living in a nightmare," Devnos finished. "Brownie, if I had had even half a doubt about the surgery, the chip would have been quite vocal about its disapproval."

"It's not fair," he thought he heard Sanar whisper.

_Nothing is_, he added silently, but he rubbed her arm comfortingly.

"You didn't do _so_ bad as a protector, I guess."

"Oh, no," Devnos snorted, "I only made your life Hell, and turned into something that terrified Clayra."

"Yeah, for the most part you blew it," Sanar agreed. "But considering the circumstances…we're all alive, still, aren't we? And you saved my life with that Holy Brother on Ennth."

Devnos grimaced. "It's probably my fault that Holy Brothers are after you in the first place."

"You can't take all the blame." Sanar appeared to be in a very forgiving mood; Devnos wondered if she had really grown so much, or if the Strings were orchestrating this, too. "I'm a Klis," she continued practically. "I mean, our father was the chief of the Resistance. It's a _compliment_ that they're after me, I guess, in a very twisted way."

"I might have…said something to Gaffil that implied the Jir dynasty would fall," Devnos confessed.

Sanar gaped. "Although I'll never know what possessed you to say such a stupid thing to _Gaffil_, of all people, I still don't see how it's your fault."

He flushed. "It was before I knew they planned to use a chip; Gaffil had told me that Horaire ratted my softness out, and I thought they were going to execute me. So…I decided to express my opinion of them."

"What did you say?" she demanded. "_What_ did you tell them that implicated me as a threat?"

"Maybe something like… 'We aren't done with you yet'?" he offered in a rush, wincing.

Sanar cursed. "You and Daddy were out of the way, so that left me to rip apart their dynasty. Larifx, Devnos! Do you really hate me that much, or are you just plain stupid?"

"Very stupid," he agreed pathetically. "I was scared, and since I couldn't see them torn down, I wanted to unnerve them, get my own blow in for everything they'd done."

"But why say something like that? If you're going to threaten them, at least use reality!"

Devnos' eyes connected with hers. "I told Gaffil that because it _is_ true. You can't imagine the role you will play in the downfall of Pucijir's Order," he finally told her. "Without you, it will all fail."

She stood, beginning to edge away, wary now. "I do revenge, Devnos, not salvation, and I _refuse_ to play hero."

He didn't speak.

"Besides," she continued quickly, desperately, "I don't believe you. You couldn't _possibly_ know that sort of thing."

Devnos watched her denial in silence.

"I'm the seer, not you!"

Finally he spoke. "No one is allowed to know his or her full destiny, Sanar."

Then he doubled over.

---

_It's not like you didn't know that  
I said I love you and I swear I still do  
And it must have been so bad  
Cause living with me must have damn near killed you  
It's not like you to say sorry  
I was waiting on a different story_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	58. Ch40: Deterioration

**Chapter ****Forty: Deterioration**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar jumped backwards as her brother went into convulsions. He remained on the narrow hospital bed only a moment before tumbling to the ground, where he shook and twitched without pattern or rhythm.

Wracking her brain for what to do about seizures, Sanar found nothing but that she needed to move things out of Devnos' way. Pushing the bed and chair to the side, Sanar grabbed Devnos' pillow, and placed it under his head.

"Be right back," she promised, then sprinted out of the room, searching for a medic.

Catching the arm of a doctor, Sanar tried to pull him back to Devnos' room. "My brother is having a seizure, please, you have to – "

"He can wait," the man said testily, pulling away and back to his original direction.

"No, he needs your help – "

"Make sure he isn't near anything upon which he can hurt himself," the doctor snapped. "The seizure will just have to run its course."

"But he just came out of _brain surgery_!" Sanar protested desperately. "And – "

The doctor stopped. "Is this patient Devnos Klis, the Dark Jedi?"

"Yeah – "

The doctor looked angry. "We are fighting a war, Madame; I'm not in the habit of saving the enemy."

"I don't give a _damn_ about your war; he's my brother, and he's already dying without you—you— And I'm not a Madame! Can't a woman be in her late twenties and still be unmarried?"

"Your brother will just have to deal." With that irritable decision, the doctor began to stomp away.

At the boiling point, Sanar reached to the Force – finding much more power than she expected – and used it to shake desks, empty beds and important-looking tools. "That's unacceptable!" she bellowed.

The doctor jumped, then moved to try to catch the tools before they fell. "Stop that! Blasted Force-users," he added in a mutter.

If he'd called her a Jedi, she would have punched him square in the face. Instead, she levitated him into the air, then turned him upside down. In her inattention, the objects she had previously been shaking fell.

"Alright, alright!" the man cried, struggling ineffectually as he tried to get upright. "I'll look at him; just…just let me down."

Disgruntled but relieved, Sanar managed to reverse the doctor's position and drop him. "He's over here," she fretted, gesturing for the disoriented medic to follow her into Devnos' room. Seeing her brother's new state, however, she froze.

Devnos wasn't moving.

She'd been too late.

The doctor pushed past her. "Let me through, woman," he snapped. Seeing Devnos' still form, his step hitched briefly before he continued. "Push the call button beside the bed," he ordered.

Sanar blinked, coming out of her trance slowly. Call button?

"For the nurse, girl."

"Oh." _I'm such an idiot. Someone would have come without all that trouble. And Devnos might not be…_

_No. You would have felt it if he – died. You_ would.

The voice reassured her, and she pressed the button firmly, turning back to Devnos and the medic. "What's wrong now?" she demanded. "Is he okay?"

His irritation with her gone into concern, the medic gestured her over. "Help me get him back onto the bed."

Grunting with strain, she complied, then stepped back, desperate to give the medic enough room to work. "The specialist said he still has a few days, if he relaxes." When the man didn't reply, she added pleadingly, "We were just talking, I swear."

"Do you want me to find out what's wrong or not?" he demanded, but his eyes were sympathetic.

Chastised, Sanar sat down and shut up, watching anxiously.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

A commotion – of both the audio and Force variety – sounded in the hallway, and Jaina left Kip's side to discover the cause. Peering out of the door, she spotted Sanar (who else?) and a doctor who was…upside down in the air?

Just as she was about to investigate further, she felt Kip's presence dip dramatically close to nothingness. Immediately forgetting everything but her friend's continued existence, Jaina ran back to the clone's side and created a new dimension in their bond. Transferring some of her energy to him without a thought, she blindly reached for her com-link, which was clipped to her belt, and punched in a code.

"Zekk?" she said into the speakerphone.

"Yeah?" He always answered so quickly.

"Room 8267 in the Med-ward. Please?"

"Coming." He clicked out.

Unseen, in the corner of his clone's room, Kyp watched with an expression that mixed confusion and the beginning of understanding.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"I can't do anything for him," the medic told Sanar, more apologetic than his earlier anger had suggested he would be.

"He…?"

"Not yet." The man shook his head and stood. "If these were normal circumstances, he would stabilize in a matter of hours, but with the damage he sustained in surgery… The seizure appears to have caused his brain to work too quickly. I'm afraid his mind is frantic trying to settle back into its normal pattern."

Sanar focused on not trembling; she refused to reveal her weakness. "How long does he have now?"

The medic – she still didn't know his name – looked distinctly uncomfortable. "I'm no expert in this area of medicine, but…I would estimate the rest of the day."

"A _day_?" she gasped, tears springing to his eyes.

"If he's lucky," the man finished apologetically.

"But…I just got him back," she whispered, and her voice shook like a piece of flimsi in the wind.

"I am sorry, for your sake." He paused, considering Sanar and his patient. "If he wakes up, he should avoid stress; even thinking too hard could tip the scales."

The doctor packed up his bag and stood awkwardly for a moment, as if searching for words. "I'm sorry," he said again, then scurried out.

Sanar could only stare – first at the door, and then back to Devnos.

"Don't go," she begged, her voice barely even the shadow of a whisper.

Her brother didn't respond.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	59. Ch41: Sustained Life

**Chapter ****Forty-One: Sustained Life**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Wake up._

He felt death invade his body, like an ocean over the sand. The Grim Reaper took his left hand, and pulled him toward His gates.

_Not yet. You haven't even begun to tell her yet. Wake up._

But then another hand took his right one, and tugged insistently. Neither of the grips abated in strength, and he found himself caught in a tug-of-war.

_You yet owe us. Let go of Death's hand. Now!_

The hand in his right pulled viciously, and he was dragged to its origins. Consequently, his back arched in agony, and he screamed until the sound shattered his own ears.

_Don't be melodramatic. It's your own fault for not telling her quickly._

"Don't…" _make me wake up._

But he already had, as was confirmed when he heard Sanar say, "Devnos?"

Life pushed its way back into his body; air screamed down into his lungs, forcing them to move in and out, and his heart to pump. His head lolled to the side, and his eyes found his sister. "Sanar," he croaked.

"Don't talk," she ordered quickly, and he noticed that her eyes were puffy. "Save your strength."

Save his strength? Devnos had no strength left; he was running off the will of the Force, and nothing else. "I'm going to die – either way, Brownie," he told her, energy spent. "It'll be – more painful if I – stay quiet."

The Force pumped more energy into him, and he found breath coming easier; it didn't whip his lungs as much now. But the loan also meant that he had the ability see details, and to notice how tired and scared Sanar looked.

"It's okay, Brownie," he murmured, taking her hand. "Pinky promise."

A sob escaped her, and she slammed a hand over her traitor mouth. In defence, her left arm wrapped around her stomach, revealing a book.

Devnos angled his head so that he could see the title of her book. _Soul: A Collection of Triumph_. His eyes flicked down, dreading what he would find, to the author's name. "Can I see that?" he asked throatily.

She gave it to him quickly and without protest. Murmuring gratitude, he pushed the Force's loaned energy to his hands, and flipped through the tome. Scanning the Table of Contents with resignation, he flipped through the pages. Most of them were here; he wanted to stab the words off their pages.

"Sanar?" he began softly. When she wiped her eyes and lowered her hands, he asked, "What would you say…if I told you that every one of these stories is true?"

She stared at him, then down at the book. She looked as sick as he had felt when he received his first vision.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina bled energy into Kip, and she understood what was occurring, and what should consequently happen. The Jaina of several months ago would have balked at the idea, even if she was capable of recognizing the significance. Since her death, however, she had seen firsthand how strange life could be. Souls that sickened without emotional or physical cause should be no problem to digest.

Shaking herself out of the Force trance that allowed her to conserve and share energy at the same time, Jaina scanned the room for her beloved. "Zekk? Could you take over for a bit?"

She stumbled for a second in her post-trance disorientation, and Zekk caught her by the elbow. "Energy drain?" he queried after her reasons.

"No, I'm okay, considering." She brushed his lips with hers reassuringly. "Don't worry. I just need to talk to Kyp."

"Don't bicker too long," he told her mock-sternly. "You kids never know when to stop."

"Yes, Master." Sticking her tongue out at him, she walked out the door.

When the door swished closed behind her, Jaina's smile died. Boots clipping the metallic floor, she walked about the ward, trying to find a private room. It wouldn't do for someone to see her talking to a ghost or – worse – nothing at all. Her path had become confusing enough without someone thinking her insane.

Finding an out of the way, abandoned office, Jaina entered, and locked the door behind her. Carefully approaching the River (always it beckoned, but always now she could fight it) and calling his name, Jaina was unsurprised when Kyp came more swiftly than ever before.

He knew to stay in the water, on the line between Life and Death.

/_We need to talk, Durron._/

/_So talk_./

She felt the pull; heard the calls; sensed the peace that waited, the friends that watched. /_No. Play ghost. I'm tired._/

Withdrawing from the River and Its eternal beckoning, Jaina felt her former master follow her out. He appeared before her in all his blue glory only seconds after she first tapped her foot.

"So, what's going on?"

Jaina raised an eyebrow, but played along. "Your clone's soul is disappearing."

Kyp's forehead creased in a frown. "Seriously?"

If it wasn't news to him, Jaina admitted, he did a good job of hiding it. "Seriously," she confirmed. "Physically, he's fine. As soon as he does something other than stare at the ceiling, the medics want to let him go."

"Will he recover?"

Jaina snorted. "Don't play coy; you know he won't. What makes Kip Kip will disappear – sooner rather than later."

"Wow. Strange. Do you know why?"

"Is it possible to _create_ a soul in a test tube, out of tangible materials?" she asked rhetorically. "Even if they could, would it last?" She shrugged, but then eyed him suspiciously. "Did you know this was going to happen?"

Kyp shook his head. "No, I had no idea." Seeing her cocked eyebrow, he insisted, "I didn't. Believe me."

"But you knew something of this nature would occur?" she prodded.

He didn't seem to hear her, at first, but then, softly, he said, "I guess this is how it comes to be."

She stared at him, but then relented, nodding slowly. "I'll talk to Kip," she decided. "There's a chance we could save him – stop the withdrawal…" But she knew there wasn't, really.

"We'll need Sanar," Kyp told her. "No offence – you'll be able to help, but Sanar… Sanar has to be there."

Jaina drew a hand through her hair. "I'm not pulling her away from Devnos. She needs that much." Her eyes flicked up to Kyp. "Devnos is dying, did you know that?" Her voice broke a little.

Kyp watched her. "I know. I'm sorry, Jay."

"I – I know he isn't my brother, but…he is."

The ghost reached out to tip her chin up. The icy feel of his touch did what his transparent fingers could not. "Kip…will last another two days. Devnos won't. We can plan everything out for then."

Jaina brushed away the tears that had formed. "Right." She sniffled, nodded firmly. "Okay. You best say goodbye to anyone over there that's worth the last touch; in two days, we're going to see how much we can bend the whole Death-is-the-End thing."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	60. Ch42: The Natural Progression

**Chapter ****Forty-Two: The Natural Progression of Life**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Kip?" Jaina shook his shoulder gently as she called, "Kip, can you hear me?"

He blinked; she took that as a positive sign.

"Have you figured it out yet?" she whispered in sympathy. Kip, for all his oddities, and for the pain he sometimes caused her, had been a friend.

She wondered if, before her death, she could have managed to have this conversation with anyone, let alone a friend.

Kip's eyes moved, just a little.

"I guess the Empire just doesn't make souls like they used to," she continued softly, "because yours is failing. That's the lack you felt – the fundamental of your existence fading."

Kip's eyes shone; she remembered that grief. There was nothing like staring Death in the face – there was loss, desperation, anger, and that other side of it, too…a strange kind of joy, and peace.

"You'll be with your brethren again," she told him, referring to the other clones, whom the Empire had managed to catch and kill. "And you can bathe in the River, and talk with all the people who already joined the Force." A slight, reminiscing smile escaped her. "Don't even try to imagine it, Kip; the living can't comprehend what waits in the next pane of existence."

For a moment she drifted, and it seemed that the River called her back, louder than before. But she shook it off, and remembered all that remained for her.

"I'm telling you this," Jaina told the bed's still occupant, "because I want you to know that you don't need to be afraid. And that…I'll miss you, but you won't miss me until I join you.

"On a less sentimental note…" She trailed off, uncomfortable. "Kyp's spirit seems bent on crossing back over; I guess the Force has something planned. I know this sounds so…heartless…to be asking you this, but… Oh, blast," she muttered, rolling her eyes. _Just spit it out, Solo_. "Do you mind horribly if, when you're gone, Kyp kind of…checks in?"

The awkwardness of her question just went to show how little of her mother's genes Jaina had inherited. _I hope New Sibling is up to the challenge of learning diplomacy_, she thought with a sigh.

Kip echoed her, sounding resigned.

"Talking to comatose people, Solo?"

Jaina's head snapped up, and she raised an eyebrow when she saw who had spoken. "Tiran? I didn't know you were a friend of Kip."

"I'm not, really," the tall man replied, and he reached around the corner to steer Aarie into the room. "Midget wanted me to come, though. I think she knew you'd be here." He cast a not entirely displeased look on his apprentice.

Aarylia shrugged, and grinned at Jaina. "You're both stubborn." Crossing the room, she studied Kip's face with wide, searching eyes. "Is he okay?"

"He's dying." Jaina inwardly winced the second she said it; hadn't Aarie heard of, and seen, enough death? But Aarie only looked sad.

"He helped me with the baby-sitting, sometimes," the red-haired girl said mournfully. "The kids always had fun; they said he talked funny — you know, very…precisely."

Tiran had stepped forward, and he squeezed the girl's shoulders. "Life goes on, hey, kiddo?" He gave Jaina a sketchy look, as if measuring her up. "What happened to the robot, anyway?"

She supposed "the robot" was a nickname of which Kip was aware. "His soul is fading," Jaina explained.

"I guess he should have gotten a better warranty," Tiran said, messing Aarie's loose, artificially curled hair at the same time.

Aarie swatted his hand away. "Stop it," she complained. "I just spent an hour getting the curls right."

Instinctively, Jaina and Tiran shared a look that said, _Teenagers_, and Jaina spoke before Tiran could dwell on the awkwardness for too long. "Planning on impressing someone, Aarie?" she teased.

The apprentice's blue eyes went wide with innocence. "Jaina!"

The Jedi Knight noted the less formal name, the absence of "Master", and accepted it. Aarylia deserved peace.

"…Does a girl need a reason to look human?" the teenager asked. "Why does everyone think I only get dressed up because I'm trying to hook in a crush?"

Jaina hid a smile. "Maybe because you live in your pajama pants, and call make-up 'evil'?"

Tiran looked disturbed by all this talk of make-up and crushes. "Could we talk about something else?"

_We'll talk later_, Jaina promised her former apprentice with a look, but changed the subject. "I may as well warn you now: Kyp might be back."

"Did Kip go somewhere?" Tiran pointed to the bed sarcastically.

"The original," she corrected.

Now Tiran looked wary. "Explain."

"When Kip's soul disappears completely, his body will still be working exactly the way it should."

"My stars," he breathed as he understood.

"Kyp's spirit hasn't fully left the River of Death's shores since he moved on; he's been forced to wait for something."

"You _can't_ be serious!"

"Perfectly."

"How do you justify something like that?" Tiran asked, more surprised than angry. "Maybe if he had just died… But Kyp's been dead for two, almost three, years! You can't just bring people back to life whenever you feel like it."

"Certainly not," she agreed vehemently. "That would be chaos. I wouldn't even think about it if I didn't believe the Force is setting this up. Not everything is as it seems."

Tiran did not look convinced. "Just because you had that miracle doesn't mean you can manufacture it for dead friends."

"She couldn't do this for selfish reasons," Aarylia piped in, arguing with her master. "The Force wouldn't let her, I think."

Jaina raised a cocky eyebrow at the other Jedi. "Your apprentice speaks truth."

Something like gratitude flashed in Tiran's eyes at the acknowledgement. "My apprentice," he countered, "is a thirteen-year-old who'll get dishes tonight for being smarter than her master." He winked at the redhead.

"Not fair!" the girl cried. "Not, not, not!"

"Maybe she'd like to dry, too, for complaining?" he teased.

Jaina grinned at the pair, acknowledging how her death had barred her from this, and how this was Aarie's choice.

_I'm sorry, Aarylia_.

As quickly as her attention had been drawn away from Kip, it snapped back. At first, she saw nothing, but then…

_Blink_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	61. Ch43: Prophecy

**Chapter Forty-Three: Prophecy**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Oh, no, I've said too much  
I haven't said enough_  
- "Losing My Religion" by R.E.M.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"I don't understand."

Devnos flinched at the expression Sanar wore: lost and completely confused, like an animal that had just been betrayed and cornered by a beast it had thought safe. "Well, you weren't the only one who got visions," he told her, trying to sound blasé.

"Visions?" Her voice squeaked, and Devnos almost cried out as the sound drilled his ears.

"Yeah," he croaked. "Crazy, huh."

"But…but…_I_'m the seer!" she insisted childishly, and he blinked, bringing cool relief to his eyes, at her sudden mood swing. "You're the normal one. _I_'m special."

_Oh, yes_, he thought, _the Strings_ definitely _orchestrated her forgiveness earlier…_ Despite his exasperation, he was surprised to hear himself voice his opinion of her behaviour.

"I am not a brat!" she retorted. "You…you…non-vision-haver!"

Devnos rolled his eyes, but even that small movement seemed a strain. "Sorry to disappoint."

"They chose me," she whispered, and he realized that she had accepted his words as quickly as she had denied them. "They _did_. I was special. Wasn't I?"

"You're in your twenties, Brownie," he said, exasperated. "Could you stave off the tantrum until later?"

Sanar ducked behind the curtain of her hair, appearing abashed, then threw the brown locks out of her face vehemently. "I can't believe this."

"You already do," he countered, needling her.

She made a face at him. "Loser."

He'd missed this so kriffing much.

_The galaxy isn't fair_.

As if to accentuate the thought, he felt the Strings shriek in his mind, ordering him to hurry, and the undertow of the River dragged at his soul. For a second, the Force let him drown in that sensation – almost in death, but not quite – but then it released him.

He'd only get one warning, and then it would all be wrenched from his throat, against his will, and said in a way that he wouldn't tell it for the galaxy.

"Sanar," he began, but then a coughing fit hit him, until tears escaped his eyes. A hard, thin object was pressed against his lips, and he drank down the water Sanar had offered. "I don't have time to avoid it anymore." It was an apology and a warning, and Devnos wished he could believe it would make up for his message.

_Nah, nah_, the Strings crooned, more sympathetic now that they knew their messenger would talk. _You bring good news. Hope. You bring her loved one._

_If I ever find a representation of you, it won't survive two seconds,_ Devnos growled back.

Sanar's chin dropped in resignation. "Fine. So…my—your stories…are true."

"Yes."

"Give me proof. Has one of the stories come true yet?"

He chuckled. "You were present for one. "'Jane and Mek, Part One: Jane's Sacrifice'. Didn't you recognize your own role?"

Sanar's brow furrowed as she brought up her memories of the story. Because Jaina had already made the connection, Sanar understood more quickly than she might have otherwise. "Solo and her boyfriend – that's what it's about: how she turned him back." Sanar looked remarkably pale. "You knew that? How?"

"I told you."

"Visions," she snapped. "Yeah. I heard. But…that detailed, that early, and about someone you'd never met?" She shook her head. "The Strings barely told me anything – just warnings about us, or…sometimes…a little premonition about Daddy's— of course, I didn't know it then…

"How?"

Devnos borrowed more energy from the Force, and shrugged. "I never really worried…about that. It happened; that's all that matters."

"Why didn't I get them?"

"Some involved you, and if you had consciously known what would happen… The visions were what _should_ happen; they weren't set in stone. If anything interfered, they could crash and burn." He paused, rubbing his eyes wearily.

"So, not only do I have no free will," Sanar snapped, "but now I'm expected to be a hero, too? Larifx."

He shuddered as black crept into his vision, but he took her hand, squeezing it gently. "Do you remember the Kavishka?"

"Duh," she sneered, rolling her eyes. "It was my favourite story; the Kavishka is the ultimate hero. Wait," she realized, her eyes brightening. "He's real, isn't he? Mujir – when? When does that happen?"

"You'll know," he sighed.

Eyes widening, she fought hope. "You mean…I'm part of _that_ story?" She laughed freely. "Then I don't mind so much at all."

_Stars, you should._

"Who is he? He's Na'Lein'yhpaon's saviour, right? Have I met him yet? Is he still on Na'Lein'yhpaon? No, wait, he's a stranger, right? So is he a friend of Solo's? Is that why I met up with her?"

"Can't tell you, yes, kind of, no, right, yes, sort of," he answered rapidly. Trying to smile but producing only a crooked mockery of a grin, Devnos added, "You'll never guess who it is."

"_Who_?" she pleaded, and he remembered that she had adored the Kavishka as well as the story.

Death clawed at his soul, trying to drag it into the River; Devnos couldn't find the strength to answer Sanar.

_The truth is too twisted to be anything but real._ "You'll find out soon enough." A thought struck him, and he dragged the words out into the open, putting as much urgency into them as he could. "Jane—Jaina…is going to ask you to do something, Brownie, and no matter how you feel about it, or…who it's about…you _have_ to do it."

"Prophecy stuff?" she asked dryly, picking at nonexistent fluff on his blanket. She hesitated. "Is it…the Kavishka?"

Instead of answering her second question, he said, "Father was the first Kavishka, Brownie."

She blinked, then stared, bug-eyed.

"I only found out a few days ago, when the Force identified the to-be Kavishka. You'll understand the connection between Father and Mr. New later…but the important thing is, Father had the Sildar with him when he died, and the Sildar can't be alive without the Kavishka."

"'Alive'?"

He ignored Sanar's squeak. "Subsequently, the Sildar must be on the other side of the River."

"Great," she muttered, distracted from her previous question. "So, where do I fit into all of this? I am a part, right?" she demanded.

"Of course." _You probably wouldn't have adored it so much if you weren't_, he added cynically, in his thoughts. "You'll know when – " He gulped as Death stopped his heart, then he shuddered when the Strings pushed it back. "You'll know when you have to back to Na'Lein'yhpaon."

"What's my job?" she asked, surprisingly eager for someone who usually sneered at heroics.

"The Kavishka will need a…companion. He's a stranger; you need to help him however possible – guide him, introduce him to the right people…" Mostly, it was the truth; he was only lying by omission. "Read my notebooks – they'll…explain some more."

The word "more" had barely left his lips before the Grim Reaper snatched him, the Strings surrendering him freely now that Devnos had played his part. But Devnos clung. _Just a second longer_.

Soul screaming, screeching like nails against metal, trying to stay a bit longer even though the Strings had deemed his task complete, Devnos squeezed Sanar's hand tightly. "Don't—believe—the love story… _Please_, Brownie."

Then his heart stopped, his head lolled to the side, and his grip on Sanar's hand relaxed.

The messenger was dead.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar screamed until she broke her eardrums, until she thought the windows would break, until the nurses ran to see what had happened. The medics tried to reach her – probably to sedate her – and Sanar threw a tray at them. "Go away!" she shrieked. "Leave me alone!"

But they kept coming, and she pushed everything _away_, barely aware of her use of the Force. Her hair whipped about her face, making her close her eyes defensively, but still Devnos' face exploded before her, glued to her eyelids. She tried to scrub his image away with the heels of her hands, but it still wouldn't disappear.

Surprising her, Sanar felt something sharp pierce the skin of her upper arm. Flailing out, she hit the nurse and her sedative away, shuddering as the needle scraped along her arm. Smothering the wound with her hand, Sanar stumbled backwards, trying to remain upright as the drugs set in.

A mother's embrace caught her, steadying her. "Shhh…" a voice crooned.

Sanar fought for a moment, struggling to escape, but all paths led across Devnos'—his—bed, where he had—had——

"Hush." The mother's arms brought her down, holding her close, rocking her gently. "Let it out, dear. Just cry."

Until the drugs took over completely, Sanar sobbed in Leia Organa Solo's arms, and didn't care that it was weak.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina felt the break first, the pain of loss; it smothered her as she tried to stand. Zekk caught her, but she barely noticed; he tried to soothe her, but this was something he couldn't understand. Devnos had not been her brother, but he had. Jaina possessed all the memories, all the tangled up feelings, that Sanar nursed in her heart.

"I have to…" Her mumble trailed off, and she didn't even know if Zekk had heard her; she pulled away before he could react.

Her legs were jelly as she crossed – alternately walking, dragging, slumping – the ward, trying to find Devnos' room. Sanar, she thought. Sanar would…need her.

That was when the screams began. Jaina shuddered and fell against the wall as the wails shattered her ears, clawing their way down her throat and into her heart, keening in unison with the echo in her own soul. Her strength gave out, and she slid down the wall, wrapping her arms around her knees as she bawled.

_Devnos reading her the story of the Kavishka._

Vaguely, Jaina was aware of Zekk approaching, but she couldn't stop rocking back and forth, sobbing, as she lost another brother.

_Devnos holding her back, keeping her out of sight, when the soldiers came for Daddy._

She had never been able to grieve Jacen properly, and Anakin's death had been dealt with in denial; maybe her reaction to Devnos' death was mixed with those of her real brothers.

_Devnos tucking her in at the Centre, telling her everything would be okay; he wouldn't let anything happen to her._

Zekk's hand hovered over her shoulder, and she knew he wanted to take her in and hold her until the hurt was gone. He wouldn't, though; he recognized this grief. On Bob she had wept for her twin; Zekk's comfort had never been accepted for that.

_Devnos scribbling something down on a cloth napkin when inspiration struck, and winking at her when he saw her stare._

"Kriff it," she heard her boyfriend mutter, and then she was swept away into the haven of his embrace. The words he murmured into her ear never computed, but the sounds nonetheless soothed her. Still, she cried.

_Mother would be furious when she saw his script all over her good napkins, but that was what happened when she took away his notebook_.

Another brother gone. Jaina wanted to run to comfort Sanar, but her legs were too weak to carry her, and she knew she'd be useless.

_Devnos throwing an arm around her shoulders, grinning freely. "You know what, Brownie? You aren't so bad."_

"Make it stop," she begged, pulling back just enough to look into Zekk's eyes. Blurred with tears as her gaze was, she could still make out the electricity of his emerald eyes.

_Devnos pushing the bully away. "Stay away from my sister!" Turning back to her. "Are you okay, brat?"_

Zekk carried her back into Kip's room, then to the far corner. He didn't lie to her; there was nothing he could do –

_Devnos mussing her hair. "Don't you know, kiddo? You're stuck with me."_

"Just stay, then, please?"

_Devnos, taking her hand, trying to hide his pain. "I'm so sorry, Brownie."_

Zekk stayed.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Please R&R :)

.Tjz


	62. Ch44: Healing

**Chapter Forty-Four: Healing**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Her back ached, and her eyes smarted from all her tears. Groggy, she pulled her head up and looked around, trying to see what had happened. She was back…home, for lack of better word, on the cot her parents had set up in the Solo quarters. The lighting was dimmed to the lowest level.

"Shhh," Zekk whispered, as her gaze found him. Brushing her hair back gently, he kissed her forehead. "Go back to sleep; you'll feel better."

Trusting him, she drifted, and ignored the echoes of emptiness that remained in her heart.

Zekk stayed where he was, comforting her through the Force and her dreams.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina woke again, and estimated that she had slept for a few hours, judging by the midnight black that showed through one of the windows. Scrunching her face up and yawning, she rolled to her side, trying to find what had woken her. Zekk was missing from her bed side, and she supposed that one of her parents had shooed him out and into his own bed.

"_Mmmngh_…"

Squinting, Jaina made out the form of a slumped, drained Sanar, who was being led in by, of all people, Jaina's mother. "Mom?" she muttered sleepily.

Leia glanced up, but helped Sanar tumble into her bed before she approached her daughter. "Hey, baby."

What she would have at any other time considered juvenile sounded comforting in the face of Devnos' death. "He's gone."

Forehead creasing in faint confusion, Leia nevertheless accepted the strange attachment Jaina had to the Dark Jedi who had captured her; she could get an explanation later. "I know, honey. Sanar didn't take the news well."

"She was there," Jaina whispered, her eyes settling on her friend. Sanar was staring straight ahead, unblinking, haunted.

"The medics wanted to keep her in the hospital for a while, until they were sure she was okay. Now all she can do is rest and recover."

"She's a survivor."

Leia ruffled Jaina's already sleep-mussed hair. "Like someone else I know," she teased gently.

"G'night, Mom."

"Get some rest, Jaina."

When the door had closed behind her mother, Jaina called, "Sanar?"

The older woman sniffled. "What?"

Crawling out of bed to her sister's side, Jaina hugged Sanar awkwardly. "I'm sorry."

Tears dampened Jaina's shirt as Sanar got out the last burst for the night. After a moment, she retreated. "Me too."

Jaina got back into bed.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"_My brother's dead."_

_Sanar felt his arms wrap around her, more comforting than Leia's embrace, but very different in other ways, too. "I know."_

"_Why did he have to die? I just got him back."_

"_I don't know why, Sanar. I wish I did."_

"_It hurts so much," she whispered. "So lafit much."_

"_I wish I could stop it."_

_He brought his fingers to her chin, tracing her features lovingly. She closed her eyes, taking comfort in his touch and presence. When he kissed her, whisper-soft on the lips, she sighed in release. "I need you." She tried to pull him closer, tried to hide in him._

"_I love you," he whispered back, holding her tight._

"_I can't face it," she said, muffled, into his tunic. "I can't face…it all… Not yet."_

_He kissed the top of her head. "Then stay here."_

_She stayed and held him tight, as if taking strength from him._

"_Stay as long as you need to."_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina woke for the third and final time as the soft streaks of dawn's light began to peek into the window, past the shier curtains. All but rolling off and out of her bed, she checked to make sure Sanar was still sleeping peacefully, then padded out of the bedroom. As quickly as a non-morning person could move at dawn, she brushed her teeth, then set off for the kitchen.

Rubbing her eyes wearily, she set about trying to find the caf mix. A glance to her chrono revealed that she had been sleeping for at least eleven hours, but probably more. _Zekk must have sleep-whammied me_.

"Speak of the Devil… Do you want some?" she asked, not turning around.

Zekk's arms slipped around her waist as he leaned into her, breathing her in. "Definitely. It's been a long forty-eight hours."

Setting the kettle on to boil, she turned around, placing her hands on his shoulders. "How long have you been up?"

"Longer than you," he said, smirking. "Long enough to get changed out of my sleep clothes."

She glanced down at her outfit. "Well, I never got into my sleep clothes in the first place. So there. I beat you."

"Cheater."

"No," she protested indignantly. "A Solo never cheats! They're just very good at…bending the rules so that they win." She grinned lopsidedly. Her smile was more subdued than normal, but acceptable, she figured, judging by Zekk's nod of approval.

"How are you feeling?"

Jaina sighed, leaning into him. "I'm…better…I guess. Sleep does wonders. I just…oh, I don't know."

He smiled faintly. "The sum up of life: 'I don't know'."

She laughed, shaking her head. "I have to disagree – it's far too simplified. Besides, I know I love you…can't sum that up with an 'I don't know'. Well, not since I was fifteen, anyway."

He smirked, but the whistling of the kettle cut off any reply he might have made. Twisting in his arms, Jaina poured the hot water into two mugs, then combined the caf grains, milk and sugar to make the caf before giving one of them to him.

Taking a cautious sip, he swallowed and smiled. It was exactly the way he liked it. "I missed you, Jay."

Her responding grin lit up the room and even the dark circles under her eyes. "Of course you did. What, do you think I remember the little things for some reason other than Project 'Make Zekk Want to Stick Around'?"

Chuckling, he kissed her.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar cursed as she tripped on her blankets and fell out of bed, her head crashing into the nearby, innocent-looking bedstead. Grumbling and rubbing her tender skull, she stood, breathing deeply.

Her heart quivered and quaked with each second, torn apart by Devnos' death.

Her hands trembled; her bones ached with exhaustion even though she had slept for half a day.

But the grief was not ripping her to shreds, howling like a mad beast, as it had been the evening before. She could thank her dreams for that.

_Just take one day at a time._

Crossing the room in darkness and grief made her veer off course like a drunkard, but eventually Sanar made it to, and out of, the door. She stopped in the fresher long enough to pull her hair back in a messy pony tail, splash her face with some water, and rinse morning breath out of her mouth. She looked bad enough without doing the basics, and Solo, of course, would look perfect at this hour—just to annoy her, Sanar was sure.

Despite her prediction, Solo's hair – and composure – looked quite rumpled when Sanar first spotted her in the kitchen, but that was due to the rather passionate embrace she was in. Sanar's cheeks flamed with embarrassment, and she looked down, away from the kissing couple.

_Look at them_, a malicious voice sneered, _look at how they have everything you will never have. That's because they're_ better_ than you. They would never let their brother die after spending years in mental prison._

She cleared her throat to push the thoughts away, but the sound also – mostly accidentally – made Jaina and Zekk realize her presence. Both pulled back immediately, looking abashed. "Morning, Sanar," Jaina muttered, grabbing her mug and holding it in front of her, as if she had just been innocently drinking caf the whole time.

Sanar ignored her, her own cheeks well-heated. Finding an excuse for her interruption, Sanar grabbed a glass and quickly filled it with water.

"The only way this day could possibly get any worse," she said after take a large gulp, "is if Durron showed up." Sanar gave a wobbly grin that was sucked dry of any amusement.

Jaina stared at her.

"Where is that _warftha_, anyway? With the whole antidote thing, I figured he'd be back with the Force. Not that I mind the silence," Sanar hurried to add. "Just…well, it isn't what I expected. You know – punishment for surviving. Again."

Jaina and Zekk shared a look. Sanar recognized the sight of two people communicating in a way from which she was forever barred. When Zekk caressed Jaina's cheek encouragingly, Sanar looked away.

"So, uh," Sanar muttered with a heaving sigh when she thought they were done. "Did you by any chance have something to ask me, Solo?"

Jaina looked up, startled. "Well, yeah, but…um, how'd you guess?"

"Is it so shocking that I can read you like a book? You read me easily enough."

"Sanar," the younger woman said dryly, "if you were reading my mind right now, you would be preparing a list of ways that you could say 'no'."

Sanar bit the inside of her cheek, then downed the rest of her water. Leaning insolently against the counter, she said, "Well, what's the stitch? Tell me before I drop dead." _Like Devnos_.

Jaina stepped a little away from Zekk, and put a hand on one of her hips. The two women stared each other down. "Kyp," the Jedi said slowly, "was cloned by the Empire almost three years ago. Now, that clone's soul is fading."

Sanar had the sickening feeling that she knew exactly where this was going. "Let me guess," she said sarcastically. "You want me to drag my butt over to this clone's side, and do some kind of soul-switcheroo."

Jaina's lips twisted in a way that made Sanar's gut sink. Everything about Jaina screamed of the differences between her and Sanar. For the first time in a while, Sanar felt the old, complete loathing for Jaina Solo creep up on her. "Not exactly," she heard the Jedi Knight say.

"Then what?" Sanar retorted. "Mystics are my specialty, remember? It's the only reason anyone keeps me around – that, and so they have someone they can practice secret-keeping on." Sarcasm. She hadn't used it in a while. Not since she found out that her brother was not the man she had thought he was, and that he was dying. Not since she found out…everything. That her entire life – and that of her brother, and of her father – was one, big, fat trick that everyone, except for Sanar, was in on.

"That's not true," Jaina protested quietly, frowning, even looking a little hurt.

Sanar shrugged, and squeezed her drinking glass tightly between her fingers. "Whatever. So just say what you want to say."

"Kyp and I can do the soul movement on our own, probably," Jaina continued nervously. "But he said…that you have to be there."

"Of course." Sanar realized she was gripping her drinking glass hard enough to break it, and she placed it on the counter after some hesitation. Her eyes fixed on the floor, and maybe the poison's hallucinatory affects weren't quite out of her system, because she thought she saw Devnos in the tile's reflection. _Solo will ask you to help her with something, and you __**must**__ do it_, it paraphrased.

Jaina began to say something, then shut her mouth, only a hiss of air escaping. But then she tried again. "I don't know why; honestly, if it was up to me, I wouldn't even drag you into this. I know you hate him. But…"

"Whatever, Solo." Sanar wished she had some kind of alcohol so she could throw it back in her throat, feel it burn its way down, less tangible than grief but still potent. That would show Jaina, too, and her precious boyfriend. Sanar was beyond hope. She had problems – and alcoholism could be one of them, if Sanar put her mind to it.

But everything – the grief, betrayal, exhaustion – combined to kill her brain cells and insides in a way that no drink could, and Sanar thought she'd die if she touched a drop of alcohol. Besides, she'd always hated liquor. "Look, I'll do it. Just – " Sanar held up one finger warningly, "don't thank me, or I'll shoot you. I mean it. Not a word."

Jaina sighed. "Not a word," she agreed, but her eyes said it all, anyway, and Sanar rolled her eyes in exasperation.

Shaking her head, she muttered, "What have I gotten myself into?"

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

.Tjz


	63. Ch45: The Soul Switcheroo

**Chapter Forty-Five: The Soul Switcheroo**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

They planned to meet at 1600 hours, in Kip's hospital room. Zekk was ordered to stay in the Solo quarters until then, lest someone recognize him, people who knew of his return to the Light side still being scarce. His job was to be completely and utterly bored as he helped Krista with paperwork. When he complained, Jaina merely smiled and told him she'd make it worth his while. He got quiet after that.

Jaina went straight to Kip's room, but bumped into Garik before she reached it. When she explained what she planned to do, he insisted he come along – "Someone has to keep you out of trouble," he informed her. She made a face and told him she wasn't a kid anymore, but hooked her arm in his in the next moment.

Once in Kip's room, Jaina asked Garik to take care of Kip's doctors. Meanwhile, she chatted with a particular ghost, mapping out the afternoon's unusual events. Wary but accepting, Garik came upon Jaina talking to no one, and waited until she had done. He then informed her that the doctors weren't being very open-minded about everything, so they would simply have to lock the door during the switch. They spent the rest of their time talking while Jaina monitored Kip's energy levels.

Cerasy had kidnapped Sanar in order to make sure that the now former slave (Devnos having, of course, freed her the moment the chip was out of his head) didn't do something drastic. After Cerasy had made sure that the alcohol level was minimal, both ordered drinks at a bar, and alternately argued and talked. Sanar almost burst into tears twice, and Cerasy embarrassed herself four times in order to cheer Sanar up.

Well, what are friends for, anyway?

Kyp paced as quickly and nervously as he could in the River, and waited for new life. His thoughts never strayed far from prophecy, the Sildar, and the woman who both hated him and would help him more than any other.

It's a strange, topsy-turvy galaxy out there.

At 1600 hours, it was time.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"You ready?"

Jaina pulled her hair back in a pony tail, and released her breath slowly. "I think so. We just have to wait for Sanar now. Where did Cerasy take her, anyway?"

Zekk shrugged. "I think she said something about cheering her up."

"Oh, stars," she moaned, "if Cerasy got her drunk, I will _kill_ that bounty hunter. Sanar needs to be able to see straight, at least. Cerasy knows that."

"Sanar also needs to stop crying before she breaks a blood vessel in her eye," Garik said, entering the conversation.

"I thought you didn't agree with using alcohol to solve problems," she shot back.

"Alcohol does nothing but kill brain cells," he agreed, unruffled. "But some people don't agree with me. Besides, Cerasy will watch out for Sanar; she shouldn't come back with more than a buzz."

"I can't believe I just heard you condone that," Jaina told him, smirking.

"Yes, well, I really don't mind, Solo."

"Jaina," Zekk interrupted. When she turned back to look at him, he asked, "Do you even know what you're doing next?"

She smiled. "Are you crazy? Of course not."

He sighed. "Right."

Garik rolled his eyes. "Did you expect a different response?"

"I hoped."

"Foolish."

"Unbelievably so."

"Oh, stop being so pessimistic, you two," Jaina said, rolling her eyes. "I'm a Solo. I think on my feet."

Garik was about to reply when the door was thrown open and Cerasy, quite melodramatically, stepped through. "I brought her!" The this-week-red-haired bounty hunter's right hand reached back out into the hallway, and returned a moment later, dragging Sanar in.

Jaina raised an eyebrow. "You're late."

"Like you're the one to talk," Sanar retorted, although Jaina had been speaking to Cerasy. "You'd be late to your own funeral."

"Sanar…" Jaina grinned. "I _skipped_ my funeral. I was never late. There's a difference – one very much thanks to you, I might add."

"Don't remind me."

So, Sanar was right back to being the snarky woman Jaina had met nearly a year ago. If nothing else, her defences were back in place, which was the most Jaina could hope for after Devnos' death. Still…

While Zekk propped Kip up on the pillows, and Garik locked the door, Jaina sidled up to Sanar, asking quietly, "How are you feeling?"

Expectedly, Sanar's face shuttered, but Jaina read the lingering grief. "Butt out, Solo."

Jaina stuck her tongue out at Sanar. "Not a chance."

Sanar made a face at her.

"As much as I love to see you two back to normal," Zekk remarked, "and although I know you two get a kick out of pretending you hate each other – "

"Hey! What are you trying to say?" Sanar challenged.

Zekk smiled serenely in her direction, but didn't press the friends issue. Particularly when Jaina whispered that Sanar wasn't ready for that kind of public display yet, and it wasn't like they were _friends_, really, anyways – just sisters. "Could we start this…thing…today?"

" 'Thing'," Jaina snorted. "How technical of you, Zekk."

He blew her a kiss. "Just keeping things relaxed, darling."

Sanar pretended to be sick. Jaina heard her mutter the words "heroes", "stupid" and "love", among others.

Oh, this would be fun.

/_Not now_,/ Zekk chided, and she started just a little. Normally she would have felt him even before he touched her mind, but she'd been distracted.

/_Sneak_,/ she muttered back. /_Fun ruiner. I just want to poke her a bit. It's too easy. And, besides, it'll get her mind off—_/ Jaina winced.

/_You can needle Sanar later. Help Kip and Kyp first._/

Sighing, Jaina nodded. "Fine."

Sanar, Garik and Cerasy stared at her. "I hate it when you do that," Garik finally said, exasperated.

"Can't you talk out loud, like normal people?" Cerasy pleaded.

/_It's creepy_,/ Sanar informed Jaina and Zekk haughtily, using her connection to speak to them at the same time.

Jaina smiled. /_Whatever you say, Sanar_./ At Sanar's startled expression, Jaina idly wondered if Sanar had even realized she had used telepathy.

/_Shut up, Solo. It was purely intentional. I am in perfect control of my abilities._/ Now that Sanar was concentrating, leaving her instincts out of the conversation, mental static cut up her words, though Jaina caught the gist of it.

"Solo…!"

Jaina looked up to see Cerasy tapping her foot impatiently. "Again. That's really annoying."

"Sorry, Cerasy," Jaina murmured, batting her eyes.

Garik checked the door and then his watch. "The doctors will be back in to check soon, so if you want to get this over and done with, without an audience…"

Jaina sobered quickly at the reminder. "Right." Rolling up her sleeves, she pulled up a chair next to Kip's bed, and proceeded to stare at him. "Umm…"

Sanar rolled her eyes, but Jaina could feel the grin the other woman was trying to hide. "Cast out, Solo."

"Well, obviously," Jaina replied without anger. Closing her eyes to distractions, she crossed her legs, finding it more comfortable – more contained. Hands that she was sure belonged to Zekk dropped on her shoulders, reassuring.

Breathing out, Jaina centred her thoughts on Kip. Focusing, pinpointing, in on Kip, and on Kyp, who hovered, unseen, nearby. Kip was fading more than she had expected, and it was increasingly difficult to feel the difference between Kip and a comatose animal.

As Kip flooded her senses, Jaina stretched further, to the shadow beyond him, to that which had made him: Kyp.

Kyp's visual similarity to his once-alive body was an illusion; when he was not taking ghost form, he had no such restrictions as a body. In adherence to the delicacy of the soul switch, however, Kyp had shrunk to as compact a bundle as possible, which now blazed like a miniature sun against Jaina's senses.

Squinting ineffectually against Kyp's soul, Jaina carefully tugged it forward, shivering at the feel of a soul – one that had been touched by death, and something…more – in her 'hands'.

Far away, she felt Zekk squeeze her shoulders, very gently, and she smiled to reassure him.

Refocusing on Kyp, she led him forward, pausing her tugging when that tiny sun hovered over Kip's chest. Away, she heard Sanar's gasp, and Jaina grinned; Sanar had given into her curiosity and poked into what was happening.

/_Am I doing it right?_/

Sanar became louder, more distinct, in Jaina's mind. /_By your standards or mine, do you mean? Because, personally, I wouldn't mind if Kyp was just suckered into oblivion._/

/_I'll take that to mean things are going according to plan, then_,/ Jaina replied, smirking.

Sanar grumbled.

Jaina turned her attention to Kip, now, puzzling him out. Kip was not answering her mental hails, and she didn't know how to—

Quite unceremoniously, light—life—drifted up and out and along Kip's body, and Jaina recognized it as a soul. Kip's soul. Just as quickly, it vanished—

/_Goodbye, Jaina Solo. Well met._/

—and Kyp's soul spread, stretched, and then finally sank into its new home.

Jaina blinked.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The air beside Kyp shimmered, but no one saw.

Fog, which defied all laws of the universe by being a focused column except for the top part, appeared in the shimmer.

Then, a glint, long and sharp, slid through the air, but no one noticed.

Whispers; mutterings; faint and then increasingly loud exclamations. Undirected, these sounds were beyond human ears, and no one paid attention.

Ever so slowly, the fog formed the perfect shape of a sword, which ran nearly the entire length of Kyp's body; it appeared to become more solid, and the fog-sword hovered a moment longer before it sank closer to Kyp.

In a violent movement, hidden by Kyp's body, the sword became real, and it _woosh_ed deep into the blankets, almost underneath Kyp. The metal gleamed death; the hilt, so deep gold that it was nearly bronze, watched everything.

_Avenge us._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

.Tjz


	64. Ch46: Running on Instinct

**Chapter Forty-****Six: Running on Instinct**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Aye, that is a kiss: A powerful thing."  
— Slightly, "Peter Pan" (2003)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Well, Jaina thought after a beat. That went…smoother than expected. Something nagged at her, but she dismissed it quickly, not one to worry about details.

/_Thanks, Jaya_./ Kyp's voice was sleepy, and not entirely all there, either.

/_Oh, yes, for my monumental part in your resurrection—stuff me with gratitude._/

/_You would have done it, if you had had to; that's all that matters_./

She began to inquire after his health, but he seemed too tired to so much as blink, let alone communicate – a skill he had never particularly cared for, or specialized in. Jaina pushed down her undefined concerns; this was a no-talking hour.

Pulling out, Jaina blinked until normal vision returned, and then checked to make sure Kyp was physically fine. "Well, that was an adventure," she said out loud, and the room's two non-Force sensitives jumped.

Sanar rolled her eyes. Jaina looked up to see Zekk, appearing tired and strained, smiling down at her. "Great job."

"Is something wrong?" she asked, quietly but out loud in sympathy for Cerasy and Garik.

Zekk shook his head, but his expression was melancholy. "I'm going to miss you."

She faltered. "Oh." Of course. He was going to leave again. _What did you expect?_ she chided herself._ He has amends to make._ The voice of practicality was not currently welcome in Jaina's head. "I'm going to get Kyp a glass of water, and maybe some food," she told the room in general. "He'll be drained. If he wakes up, reassure him, and don't let him out of bed."

Jaina flicked her eyes up to Zekk, remembering how she had been just after her death. Sleepy, then angry, then strange. But maybe Kyp, who had had more warning, would pull up the façade more quickly than she.

With that hope in mind, Jaina slipped out of the room. Her hands trembled, just a little.

Kyp had been dead much longer than her; a small, hidden part of Jaina couldn't help but think, _Lucky_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_In face of new life, he found only his instincts, his most basic needs and wants._

Where is she? Where is she? Where is she?

Find her. Find her. Find her.

_Unconsciousness smothered him, pushing him down, so very unlike Death's shores and the River's seductive waves. He panicked, and reached—_

Where are you? Where are you? Where are you?

_There was strength in saying something three times; the number three was magic. Not as holy as the number seven, true, but nothing else was._

_Seven was sacred._

Seven hundred seventy-two years after my creation, you arrive,_ a voice slithered into his mind._ Wait five years, man; your time will come.

_He fought. It was so cold; so hard to breathe; so hard to see._

_But he pushed back the blackness, the smothering unconsciousness, until he could search her out._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar pushed herself as hard against the far wall as she could, and glared at the restless figure of Kyp Durron, her father's murderer.

_I hate you_, she thought, and hoped that he could hear her. He was alive now, and in tangible physical form. Sanar was going to enjoy pummelling the life right back out of him.

_Jane—Jaina…is going to ask you to do something, Brownie, and no matter how you feel about it, or…who it's about…you_ have _to do it._ Devnos had told her to do what Solo asked, and Sanar had. So, why? She could see very little of particular interest to her—true, someone had just been brought back from the dead, but, well, _boring_. Been there, seen that, got the extra person in her head as a result.

She was barely aware of Cerasy exiting the room – something about staving off the doctors, and any suspicious persons. People just didn't appreciate what could be classed as miracles (even if they involved Kyp Durron) anymore.

"Ahhh_hha!_"

Sanar looked up, scowling as she noticed that Durron was now awake and struggling desperately. Seeing that Solo's politician friend – Jarik, was it? – made no move to do anything other than look confused, Sanar reluctantly walked to Durron's bed side. "Hey! Stop that," she ordered as Durron tossed his arms in the air, nearly knocking over a lamp. "You're going to break something."

He froze, limbs in the air and all. "Sanar?" he whispered, very hoarsely, and Sanar realized that he was definitely going to need that glass of water Solo had left to fetch.

"Yeah," she snapped in reply, rolling her eyes but leaning over a little to get a better look at him. "Are you…" she dragged the word out, "okay?"

He stared at her, then—astonishing her completely—flew up into sitting position and _kissed_ her.

Sanar's limbs stopped, and she couldn't move through the shock. The most surprising thing was not the kiss, nor the lava that now screeched through her veins, nor even the fact that some far away, most definitely unacknowledged part of her…well, it didn't respond, but there was _something_ there. It was none of those things, although each was unbelievable.

The most astounding part was that, as Kyp cupped her face in his hands, his touch was gentle, though his lips were not. More than that, this felt _familiar_ – not in the way of an old friend, or even an enemy, but just…familiar.

And something was leaving her—that, she felt more strongly than she could have imagined. Something was being _taken_ from her, but she could have sworn that Kyp—no, _Durron_!—didn't even know he was taking it.

Kyp Durron was acting on instinct, pure and simple—raw, animal instinct, which was instilled in every mortal being. And, though she didn't want to believe it, though she wanted to say that he was doing this on _purpose_, she knew it better than she knew her own name.

Years, centuries, later, Kyp pulled back, and she saw the surprise in his eyes, in the way he snapped away like a frightened animal. She could see the question in his every movement:

What did I just do?

She slapped him hard—as hard as she could—across the face, trying to remove the question, and, at the same moment, the reason for it. "You—you—" she spluttered. "How _dare_ you?" Her voice raised in pitch, and Sanar realized she was afraid at the level just above her being's core, but the core of her accepted this all.

Something was wrong—or right, but without her acceptance.

Unbidden, Devnos' words came back to her: _Don't—believe—the love story…_ Please_, Brownie._ Her instinct was trying to tell her something; she wished she could understand its confused gibberish.

Sanar felt her knees give way, and she fell to the ground in a pile of stunned bewilderment.

"Sanar—" Durron reached out as if to help her, but she crab-walked backwards as quickly as she could, until she was crunched up in the corner.

"Leave her alone, Durron," Zekk snapped from the other side of the room. "What's wrong with you?"

Instantly, Durron's attention was diverted, so swiftly that Sanar wondered if the Force was being merciful, giving her room to breathe. "Zekk," the dead-two-minutes-ago man growled.

Zekk raised an eyebrow, nonplussed by Durron's show of temper. "Kyp," he sang back irritatingly.

Durron couldn't seem to find the words for a moment, but then he said, "You—you are in _so much trouble_—"

Green eyes widening, Zekk turned and ran, with Durron close on his heels.

Garik, or whatever his name was, seemed to consider calling after them—probably to say that Durron was supposed to stay in bed—but he thought better of it. Instead, he walked to Sanar's corner and helped her up. "Are you alright, Sanar?" he asked kindly.

She started to reply, but then she stopped.

On the bed.

There…on the bed, right next to where Kyp's imprint remained.

It was…

No. It _couldn't_ be.

To lay just there, to be the real thing, that sword…with its plain, raw gold hilt, and its death-sharp blade, and the inscription on the metal…

That sword, the one that lay on the bed, the one that Durron _must_ have touched, matched exactly the description of the Sildar.

Matched right down to the broad, almost clumsily—but very dangerous—etched word_VENGEANCE_ on its blade. If she had turned it over (if she could), Sanar knew she would see the merciless inscription of _JUSTICE_.

And yet Kyp Durron had touched it—had touched the sword that no one, except for one person, could touch.

Sanar's legs gave underneath her again, and Garik's exclamations of surprise were lost to her in the utter disbelief that shook her entire body.

_This isn't happening_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Hey!"

Garik looked up and smiled at Jaina, who was looking indignantly around at the mostly-empty room. Her eyes lingered briefly on Sanar, who was still staring at the bed, but mostly stayed on the empty bed. "Where'd everybody go?" she demanded. "Honestly, I leave for a few minutes, and everyone decides to scram? Where's Kyp? He should be resting."

"Oh, Kyp came back to life—he looked quite fine, by the way—and now that he's kissed your look-alike, he's beating your boy-toy senseless," Garik reassured her sunnily.

Jaina gaped, then dropped her tray in favour of smacking him on the arm. "Thanks a lot!"

Garik chuckled as she raced down the hall, shrieking at Kyp. Solo hadn't changed, he thought. Not really – not like she thought.

It was nice to have a complete family again.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

.Tjz


	65. Ch47: Benediction

Chuck - I'm glad you're enjoying it; most of the characters are from the "Young Jedi Knights" series, with a few from the NJO, and other miscellaneous series. The OC's, however, become a much bigger part the further into the trilogy we get. The YJK, however, is where the AU starts :) Zekk...will always struggle with the Dark side, sometimes with the upper hand, and sometimes not. I definitely wouldn't want to make it into something easily overcome.  
I actually just completed the whole trilogy a few weeks ago, and started it years ago--there are definitely some problems, though, aren't there? As for the rulership of Hapes--some is covered in this chapter, at the start of the next fic, and in the trilogy epilogue. It is, however, just supposed to be a parallel subplot--ongoing, but not a huge factor in the story. Tenel Ka is one of the YJK characters, and one of Jaina's friends, and Jacen's romantic interest, which is why I make the effort of bringing her into the story every now and then :)

-----

**Sorry about the wait between chapters, guys--I got whacked with a number of term papers and exams, all at once :p**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

**Chapter Forty-****Seven: Benediction**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_You were born together and together you shall be forever more  
And together you shall be (You shall be together)  
When the white wings of death scatter your days  
Even in the silent memory of God.  
But let there be spaces  
Spaces in your togetherness_

_And let the winds of the heavens dance  
And let the winds of the heavens dance  
Dance  
Dance between you_

_Give your hearts,  
But not to each other's keeping  
For only the hand of Life  
Can contain your hearts_

_You were born together  
And together you shall be  
Forevermore  
Amen._

- "Benediction" by Kathleen Skinner

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina had told herself she wouldn't cry, and she didn't. Probably, though, she would have felt better if she had.

Watching Zekk climb the ramp to throw in his bags, she wrapped her arms around herself in a hug against the cold. Everything seemed harder, here, waiting for Zekk to leave again. She wondered if it would always be like this—him running off in search of completion, her waiting behind and missing him.

Unlike the last time he had left, Zekk was not going off in secret, and Jaina had not tried to stop him. She would miss him terribly—of that she had no doubt. But she knew he would be back. It didn't make it any easier, but she knew.

"All packed up yet, Zekk?" Krista called at the foot of the ramp. "You can organize things later, you know."

Jaina watched Krista; the girl looked flushed, and she was acting more chipper than ever before. The first week after Miko's abrupt departure, the blonde had been subdued, moping, even. All attempts to comfort her were rebuffed with stinging words. It had taken barely a day for everyone to back off, stunned by her one-eighty in attitude.

Now, though… Jaina winced. Krista had always been bubbly, even hyper, but now she had overdone it, until it was painful to watch.

Krista Harif, apparently, did not deal with loss well at all. Jaina pitied her for that; the girl had experienced – and, in smaller proportions, dealt – a great deal of it.

"Just need to say goodbye, Kris – I'll be right up!"

Straightening her expression, which had begun to slip into disappointment, Jaina found it in herself to grin at Zekk as he descended the ramp, his dark hair catching the light of the private bay.

She loved him—so, so much. And she had waited a long time for this… What was a little longer, especially when she knew he loved her in return?

He took her hands in his, tracing her knuckles, and she realized he was nervous. About what? she wondered. About her arguing with this, and him being torn? Maybe.

Which gave her just another reason to be unselfish. Raising to her tiptoes and sliding her hands up to his shoulders, Jaina kissed him lingeringly, as long as she could stand. Trying to be subtle, she nonetheless almost ripped her lips away before she could sink into his arms and demand that he stay. For him, she tried to smile. "I love you."

His fingers traced over her features with barely the weight of a breath. He didn't say the words, but he didn't need to. Once, he started to say something, but he stopped, and the silence remained broken.

A moment, undisturbed. It was more than Jaina had hoped for.

Then, one more kiss, and he was on his way.

She watched him go, and knew he would be back.

Jaina refused to cry.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Every night, I am brought back here. Every night, I watch, I stare. Every night, I cry, and I try to deny it. But I know, now._

_I know that the sword on the bed is the Sildar. And I knows that only the Kavishka can handle it. That only the Kavishka could bring the Sildar from its nestle of death. _

_Only Kyp Durron, Daddy's murderer, can have taken on the role of the Kavishka._

Sanar stared at the words; their script was scratchy, and deeply impressed upon the flimsi of her brother's journal, which she had only recently retrieved from Devnos' ship. She knew that the words would never flow from her mind to her fingers to paper – not the way they had for Devnos, and not only because the Strings had not chosen her to be their messenger.

It was a talent she had not received from him, but she tried. Years of watching him scribble down important and inconsequential thoughts, or stories, had made the act of writing something intimately connected to Devnos, and she needed it, if only to try to make everything comprehensible.

She re-read the last line:

_Only Kyp Durron, Daddy's murderer, can have taken on the role of the Kavishka_.

Every letter was a knife in her heart, thrown in the dark, where she could erect no defence. She _hated_ that it was true.

The Sildar had not been moved since Durron's resurrection and she wondered at that, but maybe the Force was orchestrating it all. From what she had been able to read, through the tears, Devnos' journal had made it quite plain that everything had strings attached, all of which were used by the Force. She hated the Force, and the Strings, for that, too.

In a fit of insanity, she stood and made to pick the Sildar up and put it somewhere else. It was an idiotic move for someone who understood, but the hour was late, and grief had done strange things to Sanar's head.

Before she could touch it, hands darted out and stopped her. Looking up, she froze. Even in the dim lighting, there was no mistaking the person who had grabbed her hands: Kyp Durron.

She hated that he had been there to save her from the Sildar. He did not deserve to touch it—not when she couldn't, and not when she didn't love him.

Very deliberately, he picked the magical sword up by its hilt, and wrapped a thick cloth around it, from the blade to the hilt.

Her gaze rested steadily on the swaths of material as they folded and slipped around the metal, then rose to meet his eyes. "Just because you're going to save my world," she told him, "doesn't mean I have to like you. Or forgive you."

His dark eyes didn't move from hers, and a chill went down her spine. A chill not of fear, but of…of everything else. She raised her chin and strode past him, knocking his shoulder with hers as she went.

He called her back. "Sanar?"

Against her better judgement, she stopped and turned. In the dark room, he seemed different, and Sanar's eyes strained to find something. "What?"

"Don't touch it." Kyp was deadly serious, and he took two steps toward her. "No matter what happens, or what you might hear, never touch this sword. Do you understand me?"

Her face shifted. Of course she understood: there were more secrets that could kill her. And more people continuing to hide these deadly facts. Some things never changed. "Of course I do."

He watched her leave, and for a moment the Sildar burned his skin.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The sky was midnight black when Tenel Ka slipped into her quarters. For the moment, she left the lights off, comfortable with the silence darkness brought. Moving steadily through and out of her front room, she left her guards at the door of her bedchamber, and shut the door behind her.

A sigh breezed from her lips, speaking of weariness, and she supported herself against the door briefly before continuing on. It had been a long day—a long year, too, for that matter.

Straightening, she turned the lights to the medium setting and crossed to her bureau. She changed into her sleepwear quickly, and folded her discarded clothes. To her surprise, as she was about to hang the pants a palm-sized rock fell from the pocket. Kneeling, she picked up the fallen object.

A holo-disc? Where had she picked this up? Tenel Ka tried to think, tried to remember if she had been handed such a thing today. Recollecting nothing—and her memory was excellent—she threw her mind back further, to the last time she had worn this outfit. It was meant for light exercise, or meditation, though she hadn't had the time for that in some time. Not in—

Tenel Ka's eyes reflexively closed. Not in months, she finished. Not since Jaina's return.

She knew exactly what this disc contained.

_He – he gave me something for you. A holo. Here,_ Jaina had said before handing it to her. And then, _He loved you, don't you get it?_ Tenel Ka almost wished that she hadn't. Misunderstanding would have been easier to cope with than this…resignation.

It was much too late for such things.

Tenel Ka dropped the holo-disc into a private, locked box. She wrapped it in her old, armored Dathomirian tunic and shorts at the bottom of the cabinet. Quickly, silently, she placed other objects—her first, ruined lightsaber, a dagger, and Jacen's gort egg necklace—on top of the pile. Then she closed it, and pushed it back into its secret compartment in her closet.

Tenel Ka was a princess—the heiress of sixty-three star systems.

She had no time for regrets. Not anymore.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

**(Six weeks later)**

There was so much pain. Jaina had known there would be, but she had not really been prepared. She had been far too young to witness Anakin's birth, and she had only Sanar's memories to reassure herself that this was not the worst birth yet seen.

Leia had been quiet at first, stifling her cries with the self-control that made her such a powerful diplomat. Now, as the doctor told her to push, a moan slipped past her and to the ears of her family waiting at the doorway.

Jaina twisted her hands in her lap, and turned in her seat to peek around the doorway again. Everyone, it seemed, was there to gawk and "help" as Princess Leia Organa Solo gave birth. Everyone, that is, except for Jaina and Han Solo. Apparently _family_ would be in the way. As it was, Jaina was left with her imagination as to how everything was going.

Her Sanar-part, which had seen many disastrous births, was not helping.

But then—a smack, followed by a wail, which had not come from an adult. Han shot out of his chair only a second before Jaina; she hurried after her father as he barrelled into Leia's room. A moment later, Jaina had to dodge the extra nurses, who Han had tossed out of the room.

Only two other beings remained, besides the Solo family, but because one was the doctor-in-charge, and the other was cleaning things up, Han ignored them, opting to go right to Leia's side.

Jaina approached more slowly, her eyes glued to the blue bundle in her mother's arms.

She had a new brother.

Pulling a chair close to Leia's bedside, Jaina peeked over the edges of the blue blanket, and met her brother for the first time.

She thought of Anakin, who had died three years ago, who had just begun to look at Tahiri with new eyes, and whose death had been Jaina's excuse to turn. Like this new brother, Anakin had had dark blue eyes—eyes that held mischief, but also thoughts that didn't typically belong to a child.

She thought of Jacen, her other half, who had loved Tenel Ka in silence, who had died almost a year ago, and whom Jaina would always long for, and miss. Like this new brother, Jacen had had brown hair, a shade lighter than her own, always catching the sun as he talked to his beloved animals.

And she thought of Devnos, who had died barely a week ago, who had wrapped himself so in secrets that he had lost himself, whom she had barely known, but whom she would always miss.

All of them dead before their time; all of them so dear to her heart.

"What do you think, Jaina?"

She dared to stroke this new brother's cheek. His skin was so soft…unblemished, untarnished. "I think he's perfect," she said, her eyes glinting with tears. "Just perfect."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

And here endeth "Caught in the Rain." Part III of Always—"In the Morning"—will be posted here soon :)

.Tjz


	66. Book III: In the Morning

**Always III: In the Morning  
By Trickster-jz**

-0-0-0-

**Disclaimer**: Any recognizable planet, character or organized group belongs to George Lucas. Na'Lein'yhpaon, OC's, the Kavishka prophecy, etc, belong to me. If you wish to use ANY of them, you _must_ ask first. I am making no money from this; please don't sue.

**Summary**: When her nephew and news of her home planet arrive, Sanar knows it is time for her to step into the story Devnos told her was true. She returns to Na'Lein'yhpaon with two bounty hunters, two Intelligence operatives, and Kyp Durron – the Kavishka – by her side to put an end to Rafintair's reign. Meanwhile, on the other side of life, Devnos Klis is frantic to prevent a secret, dangerous aspect of the prophecy from coming true…

**Genre(s)**: drama, fantasy, romance, action, angst

**Keywords**: prophecy, oppression, heroes

**Author's Note**: I will be doing a little of playing around with time in this fic, but I promise to keep things clear, and refrain from changing from point to point on the timeline too much. The future (almost 2 years ahead of the main story) will be in bold, and the 'normal' story will be regular text.

* * *

_**Dramatis Personae**_

**Main Characters**:  
_Devnos Klis_ – male; scribe of the Kavishka prophecy; Sanar's brother (_deceased_)  
_Kyp Durron_ – male; Jedi Master; the Kavishka  
_Lerasina Verili_ – female; a.k.a. Lera  
_Nichyn Whilem_ – male; teenage son of Clayra and Gantik Whilem  
_Sanar Klis_ – female; freed Imperial slave; daughter of Jarran Klis

**Others**:  
_Arelyk Rym_ – male; Jedi apprentice; friend of Lera  
_Braun Yd_ – male; cargo shipper; married to Veras  
_Caesarea Klis_ – female; mother of Devnos, Sanar and Clayra  
_Cerasy Lee-droy_ – female; bounty hunter; married to Tiran Lee-droy  
_Clayra Whilem_ – female; sister of Sanar Klis; wife of Gantik  
_Dara Veik_ – female; fighter in the Mujir Resistance  
_Dejah Salin_ – female; fighter in Mujir's Resistance  
_Élin_ – female; a maid and novice in Niha's care  
_Gaffil Jir_ – male; Rafintair's brother and second-in-command  
_Gantik Whilem_ – male; husband of Clayra  
_Geneva Tal_ – female; leader of Mujir's Resistance  
_Hasi Ov_ – female; friend of Lera and Arelyk  
_Isra_ – female; fighter in the Mujir Resistance  
_Jaina Solo_ – female; Jedi Knight  
_Jarran Klis_ – male; father of Devnos, Sanar and Clayra; failed/former Kavishka (_deceased_)  
_Jolesp Fig_ – male; friend of Lera and Arelyk  
_Krista Harif_ – female; former Intelligence operative; of many trades  
_Miko Reglia_ – male; Jedi Knight  
_Niha_ – female; an elderly seer in Mujir's service  
_Perdita_ – female; Intelligence operative; former Imperial  
_Rafintair Jir_ – male; Holy Emperor of Na'Lein'yhpaon  
_Shanya Rym_ – female; Jedi Knight; Arelyk's mother  
_Teigra Bel_ – female; fighter in Mujir's Resistance  
_Tenel Ka Chume Ta' Djo_ – female; Queen Mother of the Hapes Consortium  
_Tiran Lee-droy_ – male; Jedi Knight; married to Cerasy  
_Veras Yd_ – female; bounty hunter; married to Braun  
_Zuleika Rym_ – female; older sister of Arelyk  
_Zekk_ – male; Intelligence consultant; formerly Lord Onyx of the Sith and Darkest Knight of the New Empire

---

"The voice of thy brother's blood crieth unto me from the ground."  
- Genesis 4:10

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

.Tjz


	67. ItM: Prologue

**Prologue**

_**-x-x-x-**_

_Jarran Klis waited on the shore of the River for his son. It had been a long time, even in Death, but not long enough._

_He had not wanted to see his son in the Land of the Dead for many more years, but it could not be helped. Destiny had her way with all of them, and she had few favourites. Jarran had given up on hoping that he might one day join the group of those she loved; that way was reserved for others, who were as removed from his universe as unicorns and centaurs._

_In the centre of the River, there was a ripple against the current, and then Devnos appeared from the waist up, blinking around him. Jarran felt his face break into a smile, and he rushed impatiently further ahead, until his ankles were in the River._

_For a moment, Devnos accepted his new existence without question, as he should—rare was the person who recognized and refused Death's gentle forgetfulness._

_But then… Jarran knew the exact moment Devnos recognized everything, and the second his son stepped back, horrified. "No! No…I… No!"_

_Premonition crept along Jarran's skin, but he pushed it away, refusing to acknowledge the idea. "Devnos," he breathed, then called his son's name more loudly._

_Devnos' head snapped up, and for a moment he wavered. "Father." So much shame, guilt and love in that word._

_Jarran opened his arms, and felt the grateful tears trace the lines of his face. Until now, he had not realized how much he missed his family. "My son. Come!"_

_But Devnos' hesitation had left him, and his feet remained firmly in the River. "I will not," and Devnos' voice was very cold, "leave Sanar to fall victim to Prophecy."_

"_You can't stop it," Jarran told him, pleading with his son to understand, and to give up his futile hopes. "Sanar will play her part, and—"_

"And she will hate it!_" Devnos screamed back._

_Jarran stepped back, startled and hurt, as if his son had punched him in the gut. "The Kavishka—"_

"_Of course you take his side—he's more your son than I,__" Devnos snapped, almost to himself. Gulping large, unnecessary breaths, Devnos paused in his tirade, dark eyes wild._

_Hours later, Devnos continued, now in the voice of Jarran's teenage son explaining a mundane but necessary scene in one of his stories. "Sanar has had too many choices made for her; if the Prophecy has its way, Sanar will just lose sight of the man in the Kavishka."_

"_It cannot be averted."_

_Devnos glared, and he looked painfully like the man he had become, and not at all like the boy Jarran remembered. "She will hate him, and she will be miserable. Is that your 'missing you' gift for your favourite daughter?"_

"_I love my children," Jarran snapped, losing patience._

"_It appears that I love them more than do you," Devnos retorted. "Perhaps because I know them, and care little for the Prophecy."_

_Jarran was stone-faced. "The Prophecy cannot be stopped, Devnos."_

_Devnos turned away. "Sanar must have a choice."_

"_Choices are a luxury."_

_Devnos didn't seem to hear Jarran's words; he made no reply as he sank deeper into the River, so that the water covered his head, and he pressed against the boundary of Death and Life._

_There he lay._

_Watching._

_Waiting._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Devnos Klis would wait four years._


	68. Ch1: Enough Stories

**Chapter One: Enough Stories**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_35 Years Post-ANH_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

**The mirror was cracked, like so many things.**

**Lera Verili wondered, as she brushed her hair, how long it would take the nurses to realize this, and replace it. She wondered, then, if they thought she and her roommate were unstable enough to warrant such a concerned reaction. And she wondered that it no longer bothered her that they did.**

**She touched the glass gingerly, being careful to avoid the sharp, broken edges. Her roommate, Gisel, had punched it in her sleep, and both girls had refrained from mentioning the incident and the nightmares.**

**That was how it was, in the Chume Ward for the Mentally Unwell.**

**Giving her hair one last tug, Lera set her brush down, and grabbed her notebook and pen before leaving.**

**The walls of the hallway stretched before her, and for a moment Lera leaned against her shut door, staring. Each side was painted white, almost glaringly so, and was interrupted only by the doors to other rooms.**

_**I can't wait to leave**_

**The thought brought bitterness, but Lera pushed it aside. Why break tradition by being honest with herself? She had ignored her parents' relationship, and her own danger, and she could ignore this, too.**

**Lera's feet took her to her therapist's door, and then through it; she stared at the ends of her socks. Normal shoes were not allowed here—just slippers or socks. As a result, Lera didn't even have the choice of wearing heels and pretending she was taller.**

**Not that it mattered, here.**

"**Lerasina," Dr. Pilk greeted warmly, smiling.**

**Lera smiled back, because adults—especially adults with medical training—liked to think that if kids smiled, then they were normal. "Hi."**

"**Take a seat, why don't you, Lera?"**

**Lera stared at the green, worn couch, and sat on the arm rest. A small defiance on her part, but Dr. Pilk only shook her head before ignoring the action.**

**Dr. Pilk chattered something about charts, and approval in areas, and asked about some of Lera's recent visitors. Lera responded mechanically, her thoughts drifting. Through a nearby window, she could see the Ward's courtyard, the hardiest flowers just beginning to bloom. Moving her mud-brown eyes from there, she found a calendar.**

**March? Was it only **_**March**_**? Suddenly light-headed, Lera slid from the armrest to deep into the couch.**

**March. That made it…sixteen months. Sixteen months since it all—**

"**Lera? Are you listening to me?"**

**Lera flushed, wanting nothing more than to hide under a bed in the dark, where no one could see her. "Sorry," she mumbled, pulling on the cuffs of her oversized sweater.**

**Dr. Pilk sighed and rubbed her scalp in exasperation. "Lerasina, please don't start this now. You're nearly out of here. Isn't that what you want?"**

"**Well, of course I— What?" Lera blinked and sat up straight. "I am? Really?"**

**Apparently pleased that she had seized Lera's complete attention, Dr. Pilk smiled. "As you would know if you had been listening, yes. However…"**

**There was always a "however".**

"**However, I have one last task for you, before you return home."**

**Lera slumped back into her chair, shrinking into herself, preparing for the worst. She could just **_**tell**_** this would hurt. "What?" she asked, resigned.**

**Dr. Pilk leaned forward, elbows on datapad on lap. "Although we know what happened was not entirely you, Lerasina, you must face it—completely and utterly—nonetheless. I want you to choose one way to express everything that happened. **_**Everything**_**. You must exorcise your demons."**

**Stars.**_**Painful**_** didn't even begin to describe this task. Sadistic, maybe. Lera wondered if Dr. Pilk had demon blood, or if she had been possessed by a Sith lord, or if she was a spy for—**

_**Stop it, Lera. Enough stories.**_

"**Once you have completed this assignment, you are free to leave." Dr. Pilk reached over to pat Lera's hand gently. "But, more importantly, you will simply **_**be free**_**."**

**What an idiotic, naïve woman. As if such a tiny thing could possibly undo all the damage.**

"**Well, hop to it, Lerasina. Therapy and Group have been suspended until you finish." The woman paused, then smiled. "Therefore, this is your last session. How does it feel?"**

**Lera wrapped her arms around herself, looking around the room—at its calendar, its window, its tasteful but sparse decorations. Finding no words, she gave a final, I'm-alright smile, then left.**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

**There was really no choice in the how of Lera's explanation; she was a writer, it was what she did. And it was…comforting. Writing she knew, and she could generally trust it, so long as she had the control.**

**Still, she stalled for all of thirty minutes.**

**The cracked mirror had been replaced, and if they had accidentally moved something, they had put it back. Probably, she thought, a good idea, since one never knew how a tiny detail would affect some of the crazies. Her half of the dresser was still a little messy—she always meant to clean it, but never got around to it. Scraps of flimsi with notes were scattered about, waiting to be used for her stories.**

_**Speaking of writing…**_** She caught one of her story datapads, which had been about to fall right off the dresser, judging by its precarious position over the edge. Lera added it to the stack of 'pads at the left-top of her flat space, just a little away from Gisel's hair elastics and tiny, plastic wrappers. Brushing some of these nuisances away from her own things, Lera then lightly blew at the dust that had begun to collect on her 'pads.**

**She hadn't written much of anything, for quite a while. She couldn't, almost, bring herself to type or write anything into a datapad. Flimsi, yes, sometimes she could use that; flimsi was safe, hers.**

**Writing that came too easy, though, was definitely not.**

**Carefully, she wiped down the 'pads with her hand, and arranged them in order of how much she had once written them. The stories she had barely started planning, let alone writing, were hidden at the bottom. ****Ghost Glass****, on the other hand, was nearly completed, and so it sat on the top. She hoped, wistfully, that this would be come-hither enough for her frightened muse.**

**Foolish****, the only thing she had written since winding up in the Ward, Lera stuffed into the back of her sock drawer. **_**That**_** story, while actually finished, disturbed her. Much darker than any of her other work, she had scribbled it down furiously, attacking the flimsi until she ripped through it, carving into anything below it.**

**Lera**_**hated**_** that she could write like that, now. As soon as she left this place, she would smash the datapad into a thousand pieces.**

**Slamming the drawer shut on ****Foolish****, Lera worked blindly to clean up the rest of the dresser's surface. Upon finishing, she attacked the nearby desk. Dr. Pilk's new task could be done in a quieter room, away from Gisel, perhaps even in a solitude chamber, but Lera wanted it here.**

**This room, where she couldn't escape reality. Call it masochistic.**

**She wondered if it was her memories or Everything Else that made this so impossible.**

**Finally, she had nothing to do that could distract her. The room was immaculate, or as much so as she could stand; her pen and many pages of flimsi were placed exactly how she liked them on the desk.**

**Lera found one, last escape—a holo-slide. Flipping it on, she watched the holo-images appear. One of she and Arelyk, one of Nichyn on his first night at the Rym home, a few of her friends, one of her…parents.**

**Groaning, she flipped past that series quickly, until she was back to some harmless images. As the slideshow continued, more pictures of Nichyn appeared, and then some of Lera writing—Nichyn and Arelyk must have snapped those.**

**Nichyn. He had tried to warn her, had thought something was wrong, before anyone else. Ironic, then, that it was the problem's nephew who tried to save her…**

**Lera grabbed her pen and tore the words through flimsi until it fell apart, and the words remained only on the desk.**

**Most was garble; Lera doubted anyone but her could have understood it. She had seen this before, however—whenever she had tried to write since That Day—and so she could decipher bits and pieces of it—**

_**You—**_** (and a dirty name Lera would never have used before) **_**you used me!**_

_**WHY**_

_**Sanar? Sanar, why didn't you—**_

_**I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm sorry, I'm—**_

_**And it all exploded in my face, and—**_

_**Why wasn't I good enough to save—**_

_**Stop it! Please, stop!**_

_**Let me go.**_

"**No!" She screamed out loud, and slammed her hands down over the writing, covering it up, hiding her shame. Her eyes pricked, and she covered them, pushing the tears back in. "You stupid, **_**stupid**_** girl—**_**don't cry**_**."**

**She smothered her eyes until the tears were gone, and then she clenched her hands tight, tensing until it felt like a scream. Releasing her muscles, she whispered, "Don't break," over and over again, like a mantra, until her heart beat in time, and her eyes were clear, and she felt calm again.**

**Lera took a new piece of flimsi. This one, she would write properly. Staring at it, the rage and betrayal left her, and only exhaustion remained.**

**All of this…desperate, destructive passion…it wasn't her—at the very least, not entirely. She knew that. It didn't make it easier to deal with, of course, but there the truth lay.**

_**Just pretend they're characters, and Dr. Pilk will have her "exorcism".**_

**But where to start?**

**Lera tapped her pen against the flimsi for a moment, thinking. Finally, the muse gave a little, and Lera came to a decision.**

**There was more—far more—here than Lera's story; she could only be cleansed if she said it all. It would be more, perhaps, than Dr. Pilk wanted, but that was okay. Dr. Pilk really didn't matter.**

**She waited another moment, then slowly began.**

"_**It's time."**_

**A good enough start, for someone who hadn't written in a couple months.**

_**Great. Give yourself a pat on the back, Lera. Now keep writing. And don't you dare stop, coward.**_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

.Tjz


	69. Ch2: Time

**Chapter****Two: "It's Time"**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_33Years Post-ANH_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"It's time."

Sanar Klis looked up at Jaina, and raised an eyebrow. "What?" After a moment, she groaned. "You aren't still on about Tenel Ka, are you?"

Jaina leaned against the window and crossed her arms, considering her friend. "The war is over. Ta'a Chume can't rule anymore—even_you_ know that—"

"Not for lack of trying to forget politics," Sanar grumbled.

"It's time for Tenel Ka to take up the throne." Jaina shrugged, as if that was all that needed saying.

Sanar sighed, narrowing her eyes at Jaina. In the four years since Devnos' death, the two women had rarely been separated, except for when Jaina had some heroic mission to pull off, or a battle to save, or a date with her boyfriend. Zekk liked to joke that they had become perfect reflections of each other—something both were quick to deny. As if to prove him wrong, Jaina and Sanar had begun to banter even more (when they could remember to) than before. However, while their mental connection, which had been created when Sanar brought Jaina back to life five years ago, seemed to have become more subdued, their complicated relationship had never been stronger—whatever that meant.

"Oh, come on," Jaina insisted when Sanar didn't speak further. "You can feel it, too, can't you?"

"I don't see what this has to do with me," Sanar grumbled.

"I'm just saying," the Solo daughter replied calmly.

Unexpectedly, Sanar grinned. "It just popped out, didn't it?"

Jaina scowled. "No," she sulked.

"It did!" Sanar smirked before adding, condescendingly, "You need to learn how to think before you give me a reason to tell you to shut up."

"Be quiet."

"_You_ be quiet," Sanar countered.

Jaina growled, and Sanar went back to her book, smiling in triumph.

"It's still time," Jaina muttered.

"Whatever you say, Jaina."

The Jedi stomped out of the room.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"It is time."

Ta'a Chume glanced up, and raised an eyebrow when she recognized her granddaughter. "I beg your pardon, dear?"

The red-haired princess crossed her arms across her chest, and her jaw squared. "Your time as Queen Mother has ended; my time has begun."

"It has always been time. You have only now chosen to accept your destiny." Ta'a Chume's triumphant smile was far from unexpected.

Tenel Ka watched dully.

"Your coronation will take place in two weeks."

"You have been planning this."

Ta'a Chume raised an eyebrow, her mouth turning downwards. "Of course I have. Jaina Solo has never been good at hiding her opinions."

"What do you mean?" Tenel Ka bit the inside of her cheek.

Ta'a Chume waved a hand dismissively as she took out several datapads and began to tap notes into them. "She and a friend were discussing the fact that you were to become Queen Mother now, and the Jedi always manipulate others to their point of view."

"_I_ am a Jedi, Grandmother," Tenel Ka snapped, standing straighter. "And you would do well to treat such people with respect."

A cold, expressionless look was the only acknowledgement Tenel Ka's threat received. "You will move into chambers appropriate for the future Queen Mother, of course, and meet with the dignitaries and the press, to announce your intentions toward the crown."

Tenel Ka bore her grandmother's scheming patiently; this was something she had to get used to, supposedly. _I am doing this for my people_. "I have already arranged a conference," she informed Ta'a Chume, grateful that in _this_, at least, she could catch her grandmother off-guard.

Sure enough, Ta'a Chume's pen paused briefly over the piece of flimsi in surprise. "Have you?" The woman's voice had a peculiar twist to it. Then the pen continued to move. "Very well. Prepare your speech, granddaughter, and have a care not to alienate anyone."

Dismissed. Even as Tenel Ka moved to take her crown, this shrewd, ever-plotting woman dismissed her like a child. Insufferable.

But fixable, if she stayed true to her morals. Or so Tenel Ka dreamed.

With grace surpassing Ta'a Chume's painstaking calculations, Tenel Ka strode out of the room as if she was completely in charge. Tenel Ka had time, friends and strength on her side; Ta'a Chume knew it.

Tenel Ka was grateful for that truth, if little else remained.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"It is time," the Holy Woman boomed, "to beckon in a new era." With these words, she placed the heavy crown on the head of the young royal before her. Strong and proud, the kneeling woman raised her chin with dignity, her red hair glinting in the light of a thousand candles. "Long live the Queen Mother!"

Before her people, the Queen Mother Tenel Ka Chume Ta' Djo stood crowned for the first time, and still her back was turned to them. In her right hand she held her royal sceptre, ornate and bejewelled with enough riches to buy several planets. Her long, velvet cape trailed down the stairs to the ceremony's platform. On the left side of the room, the Queen Mother's friends watched, and noticed the stiffness with which the royal carried herself. A coronation, apparently, was not a pleasant experience for a warrior.

"Go forth," the Hapan Holy Woman intoned. "Go forth with strength and wisdom." Taking the Queen Mother by the shoulders, the Holy Woman turned Tenel Ka around, so that she faced her people. "Children of the Hapes Consortium: I give you your Mother."

Three servants straightened out Tenel Ka's trailing cape, and then the Queen stepped forward and down the stairs. Reaching the floor, she swept the room with her eyes.

Friends studied that pale, beautiful face, and saw the Queen's despair, but also the love for her people.

The Queen Mother held her arms out wide, as if to embrace her kingdom, and then slowly dropped in a curtsy. "My children," murmured the Queen.

As one, the people bowed. "Mother."

Only when she had walked down that long aisle through the church, and out the door, did the people give their joy sound.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_It is time for all pretences to end._

The knowledge rang in Tenel Ka's ears, louder than the bells that had been sounded after her coronation, louder even than her people's cheers. At four in the morning, she had at last been released from royal duties, and now the young woman studied herself in the mirror.

Her hair, so elaborately and painstakingly done by her maids at five in the morning, was still stiff with its practiced beauty. Tightly set, her red hair shone from its twists, and Tenel Ka could see little resemblance to the locks that had once been set in braids. Raising her only hand, she began to take out the pins, the ties, the jewels. Once down, parts of the hair still stubbornly refused to take its normal shape; this would only change with a stiff wash. Tenel Ka left it, for the moment.

Next her face. Once, its expression had been so proud, so free, and had only occasionally been allowed to reflect her emotions. Her striking features, inherited from her mother, and her flawless complexion, a gift from her father, had been covered in make-up. Tenel Ka memorized this new, painfully perfect face, which was more pretty than beautiful, more powerful than strong. This was the face she had tried to escape, the face of a queen. Taking a cloth, Tenel Ka added a little soap to the wet material and cleaned off her face. It took several tries, each attempt taking away a little more of the remaining, artificial colour. At last, she could see herself again, with the plain, clean features.

The dress would have to go. Although the coronation robe had been left behind, her corseted, traditional dress made it difficult to breathe, and harder to walk. This, she could not remove by herself. Calling for two maids by name, Tenel Ka let the women unbutton and untie the outer garment. For a moment revelling in the instant coolness when the thick material fell away, Tenel Ka gestured for the maids to continue. The inner dress was almost as heavy as the outer one, but more delicate and complicated. This part took longer, almost twenty-five minutes. Each undone clasp made breathing easier, each peeled back layer let more air in, until at last its cloying, heavy presence was no longer felt, and she was left only in a light, form-fitting slip.

"Leave me."

The maids did as they were told.

Tenel Ka's reflection stared back at her, weary and resigned, almost betrayed by the changes that she had at last accepted. Tenel Ka touched the image before her briefly, afraid to realize that this was not a dream. Against her pale face, the girl's lips stood out, dark red from rubbing.

Once, in a universe that seemed very different from this one, Tenel Ka had wondered what it might be like to kiss Jacen. The thought had embarrassed her, particularly because it had come out of nowhere, and when she was sparring with the man himself. The wondering had distracted her—another reason for chagrin. Jacen Solo had bested her at sparring that day.

In this universe, Tenel Ka wondered how well she would know the man she would marry. She thought about the things she had given up, the freedom she had forsaken.

Her hair still had not fallen straight, the way it had before this day. Tenel Ka wondered if it ever would have a chance to do so for longer than a moment.

Tenel Ka's hand dropped from the reflection glass. "Long live the Queen Mother."

She left the reflection and the old dreams behind.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

.Tjz


	70. Ch3: Settling Down?

**Chapter****Three: Settling Down?**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Well, you got your wish—Tenel Ka's Queen Mother." Sanar smirked down at Jaina.

"It wasn't _my_ wish," the Jedi protested. "She's miserable—you think I don't know that? I simply said that it was time. Don't shoot the messenger."

Sanar's mood swung toward compassion, as if she sensed Jaina's misplaced guilt. "That girl is _always_ miserable," Sanar said. "Just because you reminded her that she's a princess, and the only good person for the job—"

"She isn't 'always' miserable," Jaina retorted. "She's just very self-contained."

Sanar snorted, crossing her arms over her chest. "Tenel Ka," she told Jaina succinctly, "needs to get a boyfriend."

Abruptly, Jaina's face shuttered. "She almost had one."

Sanar raised an eyebrow. "Oh really. Who?"

"Jacen."

Eyes widening, Sanar sat back in her couch. "Oh. Shavit." She drew a hand through her hair and gave a sigh. "Jay, I didn't—"

"The Freak Connection didn't let you in on that, huh," Jaina said with a wobbly smile.

Sanar shifted awkwardly; even after five years, Jacen's death was a sore point for Jaina. "Jay, I'm sorry, I—I didn't think."

Jaina regained her composure and gave a sunny, if fake, grin. "Don't worry about it; you didn't know."

"I should have."

Shrugging, Jaina told her, "It can't be helped. Neither of us are thinkers."

Curiosity won over discomfort, and Sanar asked, "So, how were Tenel Ka and Jacen 'almost' together? Was this an off and on thing?"

"My dimwit brother fell madly, head-over-heels in love with Tenel Ka at first sight. She 'cared greatly' about him a second after he did." Jaina pulled a red afghan over her lap, as if cold. "Both of them were too stubborn or blind to admit it, and he died before either could finally 'fess up." She picked at a loose thread in the blanket. "You should have seen Tenel Ka's face when I gave her Jacen's holo-disc…I think if she had any less self-control, she would have fallen apart."

"So Animal Nut knew something about love," Sanar mused lightly, leaving her armchair in favour of sitting next to Jaina on the couch. "Must have been why he got himself together enough to give you a push on Zekk."

Jaina blushed at the mention of her boyfriend. "Well, I guess. And he wasn't a _nut_—slightly eccentric, sure, but his heart was more than in the right place. He was more like Mom."

"And you're all Dad Solo," Sanar teased.

The younger woman laughed. "Incorrigibly so. At least Mom has little Mikhai now. With any luck, he'll be a happy medium."

"Well, between Jacen's mooning heart and your stubbornness, it worked out okay."

Jaina was quiet for a moment, and Sanar knew she was thinking about the sacrifices and consequences that had come with that happy ending. With her sister's guard down, Sanar snatched Jaina's afghan. "Well," she pressed, "it did. I mean, you completely screwed up my cynical way of life, and you turned Onyx into Zekk into your personal PDA hero boyfriend, and you brought _Durron_, of all people, back to life, but that isn't so bad. I mean, look, I'm not bleeding to death. That has to be good. I can live with a little functional relationship stuff."

Sanar got a laugh for her effort, which she had wanted. "Glad to help, you twisted soul," she heard Jaina mutter.

"Resigned to normality, and fighting herofication," Sanar retorted, looking around the living room of their apartment.

The two women had settled into comfortable silence, lost in their own thoughts, when their front door whizzed up to reveal none other than Kyp Durron. Sanar felt an allergic reaction coming on.

"Well, if it isn't the weirdo and the spitfire, both in their little Freak Connection position," Kyp teased.

Sanar frowned, then looked around to see that she and Jaina had ended up sitting back to back, the afghan wrapped around them both. She scowled. "Don't you ever _knock_, Durron?"

"Oh, but knocking is so…unneighbourly, isn't it, Jaina?" Grinning, he crossed the room to hug his former apprentice. Jaina smirked up at him.

"Oh, but knocking is also so…polite." Jaina smiled sweetly. "What if Sanar had found a boyfriend, and was making out with him on this very couch?"

Kyp startled, then gave a weak grin. "You would warn me about something like that, wouldn't you, Jaina? Like a good friend, of course you would. Besides, it's more likely I'd walk in on you and Zekk than Miss I-Don't-Trust-the-Male-Gender and a hapless boy."

"You never know," Jaina replied in a sing-song voice, and Sanar realized that the younger girl was teasing Kyp with a specific target in mind. She resolved to ask the Jedi about it later, so that she too could exploit Kyp's weakness.

"And you, my spirited Lady," Kyp said extravagantly, turning to Sanar. Twirling in a mock-pompous bow, he took her hand firmly, kissing the air above it. "You are looking far too pristine, too goddess-like, to waste your time with some random lout. I _know_ I wouldn't come in to find you doing something silly."

She took her hand back, giving him a look. "Can't you go bug someone else?" she asked archly.

He grinned, his face holding an expression that would have been charming on anyone else, then expanded his attention to include Jaina. "Where's the sugar, neighbours? I'm in dire need of an energy fix. Training, you know."

"Liar," Jaina said, standing and stretching.

"I am not," Kyp replied, insulted. "I was working very hard."

"You're getting old," Jaina and Sanar chorused in unison.

He glared at them. "Jaina, shut up. Sanar, is that a grey hair I see on your head?"

"Sorry, no."

"Where's that candy you two hoard," he asked when he had no further wisecracks.

"I think we're almost out," Jaina sighed mournfully. "Kyp, could you add it to the shopping list? It's just on the side of the cooler unit…"

The Jedi Master shook his head in disbelief. "Jaina, someday you're going to look down…and realize you can't see your feet. What will Zekk say then?"

"Well, whatever he says, he'll know I'm pregnant," she retorted. "C'mon, Kyp—if we didn't stuff our faces with calorie-inducing foods, we wouldn't have anything to burn off in training. Sanar and I don't just sit around in Council meetings like _some_ people I could mention."

"Hey," he defended. "_I_ am helping rebuild the Jedi Order. What are you doing? Stuffing your face, making out with your boyfriend, and occasionally getting into a cockpit."

"'Helping rebuild the Jedi Order'," Sanar mused out loud. "Translation: Sitting on your butt, looking around at other washed up heroes, and counting grey hairs."

"Settling down isn't 'sitting on your butt'," he groused back, unable to find a proper retort.

"Settling down? You?" Jaina snorted. "If there was a lightsaber duel to be had, or some super-world-destroyer to annihilate, you would be up faster than a Calamarian on coals."

"Hey, calming down is the cool thing to do," Kyp mock-pouted. "Everyone's doing it—even you, Miss I'm-young-and-pretty-and-my-boyfriend-tells-me-so. May I remind you of the ring on your left hand and ring finger?"

Jaina blushed. "Well, I've waited nine years; I think I'm entitled to a _little_ cooling of my heels. And it's not like anything's really settled—the jury still hasn't come back with Zekk's verdict."

"You're already counting the days to the wedding," Sanar teased.

"Please." Jaina rolled her eyes. "Like it could be that easy. Zekk keeps insisting that he get his name completely cleared before he 'drags me into his mess'. Like I'm not already in the chaos—I keep telling him that everyone knows anyways, and besides, I'm a Solo. I dare anyone to find a family crazier than mine. I mean, hello? Our faces are always on _some_ tabloid or another—Zekk should be more worried about himself."

"He's just being a hero," Sanar said loftily. "Zekk's so whipped, he probably thinks he's _protecting_ you."

"Well, I don't want to be protected," Jaina sulked. "I'm not a child. And why does Cerasy get to be married without an I-need-to-protect-you speech, anyway? I mean, Tiran can be dangerous—you don't want to get on his bad side…and plus, he practically has a kid! Aarie's so attached to his hip, even as an apprentice-knight, he'll be giving her away at her wedding."

"Well, yeah, because she doesn't have parents," Kyp replied, amused.

"Shut up. I hate you."

Kyp only smirked.

"And the point still stands!" she insisted.

"Don't worry, Solo," Sanar murmured slyly, patting her friend's hand condescendingly. "I'm sure you'll find some way to convince Zekk that he'll never find someone else so perfectly heroine-devoted-and-dead-gone-over-you for him."

"He has a few months after the verdict," Jaina agreed, straightening again. "A few months before he gets lynched."

Something tickled in Sanar's mind—whispers of denial—but she shook it off. "So what's after the wedding bells? Cerasy and Tiran have already done it, you're planning it, Krista and Miko…well…okay, they're nowhere near that, having not seen each other in years…but… What's next?"

"Isn't it obvious?" Jaina asked, smiling sweetly at her honorary sister before, strangely enough, pinning Kyp with an evil grin. "I'll have to find you a guy."

"Actually," Kyp said before Sanar could speak, "Sanar, there _will_ be something to look forward to…"

She looked at him blankly before letting a veil of distaste come over her face. "Oh, really."

"Really. Or do you not recall what Devnos told you?"

Rattled to her core, Sanar's eyes flew to her nervous, fidgeting hands, and she found it hard to breathe. "Oh. That. Right."

Jaina shot Sanar a confused look; Sanar had never told her about Devnos' last words, and Jaina had never pressed—it wasn't her place, even though part of her said it was. "What did Devnos say?" she asked, although she already knew the answer:

"Nothing."

Kyp and Sanar had spoken at the exact same time. Raising an eyebrow, Jaina eyed the two most unlikely of cohorts. "Interesting," she murmured.

Sanar. And Kyp.

Kyp, she knew, would be only too happy to get along with the ex-slave—Jaina had more than a slight suspicion that he was in love with Sanar. But why would Sanar tell _Kyp Durron_ anything so private as Devnos' last words? Jaina's sore points were her brothers' deaths; Sanar's were Devnos' death and Clayra's current well-being.

"Is there something going on between you two that I should know?" she demanded suspiciously.

Sanar's reaction to this statement reassured her. "Are you _insane_?" the woman shrieked, shooting up to her feet.

Kyp groaned, flushing as if he wanted nothing more than to find somewhere to hide.

Jaina found herself very amused. Kyp Durron, Jedi Master, returnee from Death, feared Destroyer of Carida, the man who had always chosen his own path even if it went against the famous Luke Skywalker's credo, was uncomfortable with Sanar's reaction to a relationship with him.

"I was just wondering," she murmured slyly, grinning like a cat with cream.

Sanar and Kyp both glared at her; Jaina laughed.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

It was so dark out—better to hide the tears, the fear; better to conceal their actions.

A mother reached out to stroke her son's cheek, memorizing every valley and bone, trying to make it all out one last time in the almost non-existent moonlight. Tears slid down her cheeks in rivulets, silent and breaking, like an ice statue melting. She whispered her love once more before her voice cracked, and she had to turn away.

The son's face stayed impassive, but his eyes were lost, hurt.

A father held his son tight in iron-strong arms. "Braun and Veras will take care of you—find some place for you to stay until…" He swallowed convulsively. "You'll be safe with them." But he sounded as if he was trying to convince himself; probably because it was difficult to give up his only son, even to a better life.

"We have to get going," a new voice said urgently—a man, known as Braun. He checked the horizon for other people, then for the sun. "It'll be light soon; we don't have a lot of time."

The father nodded tensely and stepped just a little away from his son. "We love you," he told the teenager, leaning down enough to stare his son in the eye. "Never forget that. Never forget who you are."

"The guards will be back soon," Braun snapped, his voice sharp with anxiety. If caught, it would be the end for all of them.

Nodding frantically, the mother brushed her pale hair out of her face, and her tears from her eyes, as she nudged her son in the other man's direction. "Go with Braun, there's a good son. Stay hidden and safe until the ship leaves, and don't come out for anything."

The boy nodded his understanding, as he had for all his mother's repetitions. Now wasn't the time for insolence. "Goodbye, Mama, Father," he whispered, voice thin.

He let himself be pulled away by his new guardian, toward the ship upon which he would hide, and escape to the Galactic Alliance.

"Don't forget," his mother cried out suddenly, her voice stark against the silent, cold night.

Nichyn turned back to regard her solemnly.

"Your aunt," she trailed miserably. "Don't forget to find Sanar, and—and tell her…"

"Shush, Clayra," the father whispered anxiously, taking her in his arms. "You will catch the attention of others." He raised his eyes to Nichyn's. "Go, son."

Nichyn ran up the ship's ramp. He would not return home for a long, long time.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

For so long, the boy had been ill, unable to leave his home, and visitors and well-wishers were turned away. The people had seen Pucijir's mercy—the boy must truly have been strong, and righteous!—when Nichyn Whilem at last gave into death.

The poor parents did not see it that way—leastways, the mother did not, and both were inconsolable.

Rumours of their crazed grief spread like wildfire—_Did you hear about the Whilems? Couldn't even prepare the funeral—wouldn't even admit their son's death. The family's friends had to steal the body away, and burn it in the desert. The wife won't come out, won't eat, won't drink. The man, of course, is stronger, but sorrow haunts his eyes._

_May Pucijir have mercy on them._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

.Tjz


	71. Ch4: The GFFA Education of Nichyn Whilem

**Chapter****Four: The GFFA Education of Nichyn Whilem**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Veras Yd only allowed herself to start breathing again when they had left Na'Lein'yhpaon's atmosphere. The ride out was typically difficult—Na'Lein'yhpaon the planet was as forgiving as its government, and ships had a hard time of getting past both. She couldn't count the number of times she and Braun, her husband, had been sent careening back toward the ground. Every time they had pulled back, just before they died fiery, explosive deaths. Every time she had nightmares for days about what it would be like…feeling the _Prize_ crumple against the earth, twisting into her skin, then exploding she and her husband into hellish oblivion.

Braun was lucky, where others were not.

But it would be just Veras' luck if, on the day they brought out shipment far more precious than dried fruits or rare furs or even information, she and Braun hit the ground for real. Braun was lucky; his wife, not so much. She had been born on Na'Lein'yhpaon, after all. And speaking of leaving that lafit planet…

"Do you think he's alright?" asked Veras in a hushed voice, glancing over her shoulder at Nichyn, who was sitting in the lounge.

Braun frowned but then shrugged. "Would you be, if you were him?"

"I have been him," she retorted not unkindly. "The difference is, I couldn't get off that planet fast enough—and I'd known you long enough to know you wouldn't blow my brains out trying to do the impossible, getting past Na'Lein'yhpaon's atmosphere. Nichyn's parents told him this is for the best."

"He knows it is, Ver. The kid's smart—remember what Clayra and Gantik said? He's a top-notch student."

Veras snorted. "Student or not—and you know education on NLY and in the Galactic Alliance are two very different things—Nichyn's a teenager, Braun. They say one thing, and mean another."

"Teenagers also happen to be tough. All those hormones—they have to be, or the parents murder them for being monsters. But go back and talk to him—he could probably use some support, even if he'd pry prefer his mum or his dad. I'll come back once I double check these readings."

She chewed her lip, staring out at the lines of hyperspace, then unbuckled her crash webbing decisively. "I think I will." Marching out of the cockpit, she slowed only a moment at the lounge doorway. "You know," she said, "you should really take a look at hyperspace. There's nothing like it."

The boy glanced up from his brooding, shadows hugging his face, and Veras was again struck by Nichyn's physical similarities to Devnos, when Sanar's brother had been fourteen. "I'll be able to see it some other time—that's why I left, isn't it? To see wonderful new things." He almost managed to keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Veras bit her lip, trying to think up some motherly comfort for him, but then (to her horror) she heard herself snap, "Oh, grow up, Nichyn."

Nichyn stared at her, wide-eyed, and maybe even a little hurt. Veras winced. _Lafit. Really not how to treat a kid who's just left his family. Golden star to you, Veras._

Well, there was nothing to do now but try to deal with her tongue. "Look, Nichyn, you had to leave—you get that, don't you? And not to sight-see, so don't give me any of that dung. It isn't _safe_ on that planet. The priests wanted to make you one of them…they want to make your dad a chief executioner…and your mom's health? Really not improving. It was leave, or die."

She looked up to see Braun taking in her pep talk with a wry expression. "Oh, Veras, darling, you're a ready-made mother."

The dark-haired woman scowled at him, cheeks flushed. "Thanks,_darling_."

"Don't you miss it?" Nichyn asked suddenly, staring straight at Veras.

"Miss what?"

The teenager swallowed. "Home."

It was Veras' turn to stare. "Let me tell you something, kid. I grew up Quatroc, under the care of Horaire's prized adept. You ever heard of Horaire? Your aunt killed the sadistic beast, thank Mujir. But not soon enough—she held onto her conscience up until that _priest_ threatened your mother. I got visits from him, once or twice, and I'm not going to explain what he did, because soon you'll be looking your aunt in the eye, and you'll know that_he saved his worst for her_."

Nichyn swallowed hard. "I'm sorry, Veras."

She took a shuddering, angry breath. "I was luckier than Sanar—not that that's saying much. But I escaped…without being nearly stoned, I might add. Met Braun by accident, realized not all free men are sadistic, and that they don't have to pretend to be if they aren't. Next time he left on a shipping run, I left with him. And I never looked back. Wanna know why? 'Cause that place…that planet…is my own little version of Hell. I have never, not for one second, missed it."

A moment passed before Braun put an arm around Veras' shoulders. "I think that's enough NLY bitterness for tonight," he said gently.

She smiled thin-lipped. "Sorry." The words were ground out.

Nichyn looked away awkwardly, then glanced back at his new guardians. "How are we going to find her? My aunt, I mean."

Veras pulled herself together. "I have a friend—her name is Cerasy—who tends to know the most…coincidental things. We'll meet up with her at her place."

"And if she doesn't know anything?"

Braun answered. "We've contacted a stable family, on Gallinore; they have agreed to take you in for as long as you require a home, even if that is until you're an adult. You will be well-provided for."

Nichyn appeared to struggle for a moment with his reticent nature before questions poured out of his mouth. "Have you met them? What are they like? Can I trust them? You _have_ met them, haven't you? What are their political views? Is it safe to tell them about Father and Aunt Sanar? What can't I do or say? Should I—"

Braun laughed. "I told you the kid knew the score, Ver," he told her before turning back to their charge. "Gallinore is part of the Hapes Consortium, Nichyn. It's completely safe. As long as you don't want to assassinate the Queen Mother—and I hear the new one is more than just decent—you won't get any trouble from the government."

"And religion?" Nichyn shot out just as quickly. "What religion do they practice?"

Veras snorted. "The thing about the galaxy outside of Na'Lein'yhpaon, Nichyn? Most of it…religion isn't as restrictive. I mean, sure, there are some planets filled with fanatics, but there are a lot more that are almost eerily diverse. So long as you don't hurt anybody with your beliefs, you're allowed to keep them—out in the open, inside only, or whatever." She sat down next to him, making eye contact. "The Galactic Alliance is very different from…home, kiddo. You'll be safe just about anywhere—but especially on Gallinore. There hasn't been a war there in years; even the war with the New Empire barely touched it.

"You'll be safe."

Nichyn looked bewildered; Veras knew the feeling. The idea of being _safe_ was foreign when you were born on Na'Lein'yhpaon; Veras had only learned it after years with Braun.

Hesitating only a moment, Braun suddenly spoke. "Gallinore is different from Na'Lein'yhpaon, Nichyn. Very different. You'll be able to adjust to most things, I believe, but, well…"

Catching her husband's drift, Veras rolled her eyes. Time for the foot-in-mouth syndrome, no doubt. Braun could stumble around delicate ways to talk for hours. "Look, kid, treat girls like dirt, and you might get pummelled. Understand me?"

The fourteen-year-old stared at her, slightly slack-jawed. "Her…her father would protect her honour?"

"No, I mean the girl you picked on would get mad and slug you across the jaw. And she wouldn't be carted off to prison if she did." Veras rubbed her temples, trying to think out how to best say this. "Your parents…they told you that Pucijir's Order is wrong, didn't they? That women and men are equal, Rafintair's evil, yadda, yadda, yadda?"

Nichyn nodded mutely.

"So…you've been careful to treat girls nicely, you know, when you could. Right?"

He shrugged. "Of course." The concept of equality had been drummed into his head ever since his biological father, Kalav, had died.

"Well, in most of the Galactic Alliance, the equality mentality isn't an out-of-the-way thing; it's expected. Everywhere. All the time." Veras couldn't contain her slightly evil grin. "More so in the Hapes Consortium than some."

"The point is," Braun interrupted, "that maybe, even though intellectually you know equality is right, you don't really believe it? You've only ever had your mother and your adoptive father's word on it, and…"

Nichyn settled back into brooding position. "I trust them."

Veras and Braun exchanged a wry glance. The kid was going to get hit harder than a rock.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Nichyn must have jumped a metre high when Cerasy's security jumped out at them. The bounty hunter had always been a little extreme with…well, everything…but the way she had rigged up the entry for her Tridio office/home was a whole other story. A rocket launcher shot out of what had appeared to be the door's viewing glass before informing that they had "thirty seconds to type in the passcode or get their brains blown out".

Veras waited twenty seconds before typing in the password, just to see Nichyn's skin turn egg-coloured. The kid was just too green when it came to technology, and knowing that this was a _woman_'s home had not prepared him in any way for such a threat. Braun had to drag the kid in, or Nichyn would have stared at the door for considerably longer than necessary.

After a few blinks, Nichyn was restored to himself. "Cerasy just gave you the security pass to her home?" he demanded, bewildered. No one on Na'Lein'yhpaon—especially a single woman—left themselves open to attack. Even if the protective measures failed, it gave a sense of safety.

Veras glanced around the stark white walls of Cerasy's reception area, checking for further security, then gestured for Braun and Nichyn to follow her. "This is just her office—not even her favourite, really, but she drops in here periodically. She gives just about everyone the password; if you aren't trustworthy, Cerasy has ways of dealing with troublemakers.

"At the moment, though…" She looked around the main, large room into which she had led the two males; it showed no sign of life or warmth. "She should be here," Veras muttered to herself. "She _always_ checks in at the beginning of the month. Cerasy isn't one to break routine overmuch."

Braun, too, was looking around, perplexed. "Maybe she's out?"

"On a weekday, at two in the afternoon?" Veras said sceptically. "And with nothing out—not even a blaster? Not likely. She isn't here." Finally, she shrugged and called, "Bee-Three? You here?"

Something rustled in the closet, and Nichyn's hand went instinctively to his knife. Veras made a note to tell him to leave the weapon behind, or, at the very least, conceal it. Boys didn't carry deadly instruments around Gallinore, and if they did, they definitely didn't know how to use it like Nichyn. If he had to stay with the Rym family, he shouldn't need it. Any nephew of Sanar ought to be able to fight like a lunatic if necessary, anyway, knife or no knife.

A moment later, an angular, uniquely styled droid zipped out of the closet, only just stopping in front of its audience. Cerasy had created Bee-Three herself, mixing protocol with bodyguard programming, something that was evident in most of Cerasy's droids. However, Bee's appearance was more polished than before, and her repulsor jets were no louder than a hum, so Veras assumed that Cerasy had done more work on it.

Mild lasers scanned Veras' retinas before Bee greeted, "Mistress Veras. Welcome. How may I help you?"

"Where's Cerasy?"

Bee's jets whirred faintly as she moved back half a pace. "Mistress Cerasy is on her honeymoon," she intoned. "She will return to her regular schedule in ten days."

Veras blinked. "Cerasy…got hitched?" Last she'd heard, the efficient bounty hunter had been unattached and completely immune to male attention.

"Yes." Bee seemed to smile. "To Master Tiran." She twirled slowly, showing off her new look. "He is the one who altered my shell, and fixed my jets."

Braun and Veras exchanged a look. They had placed perhaps an inordinate amount of hope in Cerasy knowing about Sanar. How long would Nichyn's foster family, the Ryms, wait for Nichyn before they withdrew their offer? They could only prepare for so long. But the Yd couple couldn't exactly baby-sit a teenager for a month. Braun had supply runs to do, and Veras had bounties to look for, and while it would certainly give Nichyn a useful crash course in the galaxy outside of Na'Lein'yhpaon, it probably wasn't the healthiest way to go about it. Nichyn needed some kind of stability.

On impulse, Veras tried Bee's knowledge before they left. "I don't suppose _you_ know of a Sanar Klis, do you, Bee?"

Bee blinked, turning her gaze to each of the three humans in turn. "Well, of _course_ I do, Mistress Veras. Sanar Klis is a close friend of Mistress Cerasy."

Stunned, Veras couldn't even blink. "Oh. That's great."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

.Tjz


	72. Ch5: Sanar's Apparent Lobotomy

Hey, remember me? cringes I'm terribly sorry about all the stops and starts with the posting of this trilogy; if anyone is still reading this, I'll try to wrap it up by September at the latest. ItM is complete, so chapters may be sporadic, but more than occasionally with multiple chapters per day.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

**Chapter Five: Sanar's Apparent Lobotomy**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

When Sanar had brought Jaina back to life five years ago, the souls of the two women had been intricately and irrevocably entwined. Their abilities and memories had crossed over, merging, moulding them into new people. Sanar had beaten a difficult sim her first time in an X-wing; Jaina knew just about everything to do with midwifery. Jaina could whistle; Sanar understood every inside joke that Jaina's friends threw out.

The ability to spar, however, had not been passed on in any shape or form, as Kyp and Jaina both well knew. Sanar was a miserable fighter.

"If I get in a spot, I can take care of myself," the former slave grumbled. "I protected Clayra for years, didn't I? And when Horaire threatened her, I took care of it, didn't I? I don't see why I need to learn how to use a lightsaber."

Kyp groaned in irritation. Sanar had been arguing for the better part of an hour—and that was only counting today. She whined about it for some time, whenever Kyp or Jaina brought it up. "Sanar, it's the traditional Jedi weapon."

"So?" she retorted. "I'm not a Jedi."

Jaina covered her smirk. "Just humour him, Sanar. Kyp's too old to develop patience."

"I guess so," Sanar agreed, only too ready to insult the Jedi Master. Starting up her training 'saber, Sanar resignedly flicked it around a bit. "Let's get this over with."

Kyp's grin—which he now displayed at full strength—had been one of the biggest reasons the _Galactic Woman_ named him the Number One Bachelor several years in a row before his death; it had no effect whatsoever on Sanar. He didn't let it fade, though. "First of all, correct your form."

"My form is _fine_," Sanar spat, standing with her feet together and her legs straight.

Even Jaina, who enjoyed Sanar's training pranks as much as the woman herself, rolled his eyes. "Suck it up, sis. Do it properly."

Sanar pouted petulantly, but at least separated her feet so that they were shoulder-width apart. "That better?"

Kyp stepped forward, hooking his lightsaber to his belt for the moment. "Only a little," he said dryly. "Put one foot a little back…right…and bend your knees. You need to keep your centre."

Scowling at him, Sanar nonetheless followed his instructions. If she went along with this, it was more likely that Jaina would talk about Kyp's weak spot—the one, Sanar noted with a sulk, that Jaina had exploited time and time again, but which she hadn't yet shared. Niftyax.

"Now, I'm going to lunge, and I want you to parry me, alright?"

She lunged before he could try it; he parried easily, then reposted to just a centimetre away from her right shoulder. "Sanar, this is you getting used to fighting, not you trying to kill me," Kyp informed her patiently. "You can exercise your demons later."

"Promise?" she asked cheekily. That she didn't just cut him down with a heavy cascade of insults and accusations showed how far she had come.

With Jaina on the sidelines, Kyp and Sanar circled each other. Kyp stayed mostly on defence, only occasionally striking out—little more than pokes, and generally to provoke her into action. For the most part, however, Sanar took the lead. Her moves were awkward and unnatural as she tried to get used to sparring.

"Firm your grip, Sanar," Jaina called. "You don't want to lose your 'saber."

Kyp had been refraining from the same thing, knowing that Jaina was the only person Sanar would even think to listen to. Seeing the woman's quick grin in Jaina's direction, and the adjustment of grip made so quickly, however, he let his mouth get away with him. "Use the Force, Sanar; you're fighting blind—it doesn't change anything, and you won't learn how to fight properly."

She stopped, eyes glittering, lightsaber all but forgotten in her loose grip. "I'm…" Apparently, advice from Kyp Durron was not what she wanted to hear, because Sanar's frustration bubbled over as she dropped her training 'saber and launched herself at Kyp, raining his face with her fists and knocking him right over. Stunned at first, Kyp recovered himself fairly quickly, but still couldn't stop Sanar's onslaught. What she lacked in strategy, she more than made up for with raw strength; she always held a little back for when she needed it.

"Sanar! Sanar, _stop it_." Jaina grabbed both of Sanar's wrists firmly and pushed her back, taking away Sanar's balance. "Sanar. Look at me."

Sanar's eyes skitted around before settling on Jaina. As suddenly as she had attacked, her temper vanished, and she clumsily got to her feet, staring at Kyp. "I—I'm sorry, I—"

"Horaire said that once," Jaina explained quietly, face pale. "In a different context, but…"

Jaina's pallor was nothing next to Kyp's absolutely pasty complexion and horrified expression. "Sanar, I swear, if I'd known…I _never_…"

Sanar visibly shook herself. "No," she said clearly. "I spazzed. It was completely…not your fault." In her self-disgust, she didn't even notice that she'd pardoned Kyp of any blame. "Completely. I don't even know what came over me."

"Sparring isn't your strong point," Jaina muttered, staring at her feet. "Neither is doing something you don't like, or aren't good at."

Sanar fidgeted, glancing at Jaina. "I guess it isn't." She paused before whispering, "I'm…Larifx…I'm so sorry."

Jaina gave her sister a sideways hug, creating an unsettling image of two nearly identical faces right next to each other. "It's the dreams, isn't it?" she asked, frowning.

Sanar looked down awkwardly. "'Dreams'?" she repeated uncomfortably, knowing as she did so that there was no point in denying it. She suspected that, even without the Freak Connection, Jaina would know about this.

Jaina straightened slowly, her attention focused solely on Sanar; her eyes reflected the strangeness that had crept into her during her period in the River of Death. "About Na'Lein'yhpaon. All the memories…they're flooding back, aren't they? Can't run forever."

There was nothing to say to that.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

To say Veras was surprised to see Sanar, her friend from nearly a decade ago, comfortably teasing a dark-haired man, was an understatement. Sanar did not tease men. She glared at, beat up, and protected her loved ones from men. That was it. True, Veras knew of times when Sanar had also seduced them, but other than Gantik, she had never seen Sanar (genuinely) smile at a man.

"From your description," Braun said at her side, "I was expecting someone very…different."

"That makes two of us," Veras muttered, dazed. She was close enough to see Sanar's features, and there was no mistaking her; still, she had to wonder if Sanar's brain and soul had been replaced with another person's.

Her long legs eating up the separating distance, Veras only stopped when Sanar stood on tip-toe to kiss her companion. _Definitely a lobotomy,_ Veras decided. Sanar seduced, when she had to, with passion; this…new version of Sanar…had love bleeding from her eyes. "Sanar?" she squeaked.

Sanar and the dark-haired man (was that Onyx?!) startled apart. "Huh?" Sanar muttered, looking almost drugged, the way Veras always felt when she pulled away from Braun.

"This is just too weird, you know, Klis?" Veras said, shaking her head. "I mean, you don't look a day older, and you're _kissing Onyx_? I know you thought he was great and all but—"

"Um…Jaina?"

Sanar blinked up at Onyx, then squinted at Veras. "I know you," she muttered under her breath.

"I'm Veras," she snapped in a _duh_ tone. "Look, I know it's been a decade, but really—"

"Veras!" Sanar exclaimed victoriously. "Sanar knew you…from Na'Lein'yhpaon." She frowned. "What are you doing on Ta'a Chume'Dan?"

The bounty hunter blinked. "Uh, Klis, when did you start referring to yourself in the third person?"

Sanar stared blankly, then smacked her forehead. "Oh. Right! You think I'm Sanar, don't you? Stars, I'm an idiot." She shook her head. "I'm Jaina," she introduced herself with a grin, holding out her hand to shake Veras'. "Jaina Solo."

Veras peered at her. "Okay, Sanar, when did you go insane?"

Onyx casually wrapped an arm around Sanar's shoulders. "Actually, Veras, she's telling the truth. Jaina and Sanar bear an uncanny resemblance. It's quite an interesting story, how they met…really." Here, surprisingly, his cheeks flushed.

Jaina-not-Sanar smirked at Onyx. "You're such a guy, Zekk. Honestly. 'Interesting'? That's one way to put it."

"Are we talking about the how-the-Freak-Connection-occurred part—" Zekk looked ill "—or, uh…how you two actually met?"

She raised an eyebrow at him.

"Right. Uh." Embarrassed by something he saw in Jaina's look, Onyx turned back to Veras, Braun and Nichyn. "Why don't you follow me? Sanar's back at the apartment."

"Wait." Veras held up both hands. "Just _wait_ a minute. Sanar? At 'the apartment'? What, you two are living together? Larifx, Sanar _did_ have a lobotomy."

Zekk frowned before the identity of "you two" sank in. "Oh, no. Not—not me and—and—Sanar," he stuttered. "No. Definitely not. No. Way. I mean, _Jaina_ and Sanar are living together, but…absolutely not me and Sanar."

"Five years ago, however…" Jaina chirped.

"I'm never going to hear the end of that," Zekk groaned. "Honestly, of all things I did as Onyx, you had to hold a grudge about _that_?"

Jaina stepped in front of him, so they were chest-to-stomach (Jaina being a great deal shorter than Zekk). "You slept with my sister."

"_Riiiight_." Zekk laughed nervously. "Jay, why don't we have this conversation…elsewhere…when Sanar's friends aren't around?"

"Sure," Jaina burbled, turning back around to face the trio of arrivals. "Follow us."

Veras had to consciously restrain herself from demanding just _how_ Sanar Klis had befriended Jaina Solo, of all people—and had Jaina mentioned something about her sister? What? Veras had been certain that Jaina was the only Solo daughter—and the only living child old enough to have hormones, certainly.

Jaina, arm hooked with that of Onyx (or Zekk, or whatever the lafit he was going by now), led them through the city with ease, chatting on and off when she could think of something to say—she was very clearly holding back—but generally bantering with her…boyfriend. At least, Veras assumed Jaina was involved with Onyx/Zekk—she'd heard rumours.

"…So now Kyp lives practically right next to us," Jaina was saying. "And Sanar gets to see him _every_ morning, and make fun of his morning hair, and he snipes back with morning breath, and they both completely enjoy annoying each other. But," she hurried to add, "you know, Kyp only does it because it's the only way to get Sanar to acknowledge his existence. I guess he never got past the second grade irritate-the-girl-you-like mind-set. I swear, they've got as many obstacles as me and Zekk, almost. Except," she considered, "that Zekk and me…fit…and who knows about Kyp and Sanar? She'll probably kill him."

"Wait," Braun interrupted, grabbing Jaina's arm to halt her, right in front of an apartment building. "We're talking about Kyp _Durron_?"

Jaina blinked owlishly. "Well, yeah."

Veras stifled a grin as her husband tried to accept that, firstly, he was going to have to pass the infamous Destroyer of Carida/rogue Jedi/resurrected person's apartment door, and secondly…that Sanar hadn't killed Kyp?

"Didn't he kill Mr. Klis?"

Jaina and Zekk exchanged a look. "Well," Jaina hedged, "very indirectly. He was kinda possessed. And, I mean, everyone but Jarran was Imperial…" She sighed and twisted a lock of hair around her finger. "And just because she hasn't killed him _yet_ doesn't mean she won't _some_day."

"But she didn't kill him in the first place!" Veras half-shrieked, disbelief cascading from her expression.

Nichyn watched with confusion.

"Well, he was already dead," Jaina said, her voice implying that this was a very boring concept—and one that a two-year-old could grasp. "She had a year to get used to him."

"Lobotomy. Most definitely. There's no other explanation."

Jaina smirked. "Well, technically…"

Zekk bumped her with his elbow.

"Never mind." She grinned, then gestured for them to follow her into the building. Leading them through the hallways, she stopped in front of a door. "Well, this is home." Keying in the access code, she strolled in when the door rose. "Sanar?" she called, tossing her messenger bag onto a couch. "Take a seat," she told the group over her shoulder. "She should be out in a second… Sanar? Come on out—I _know_ you're here, so don't bother…"

She rounded a corner, and Veras, Braun, Zekk, and a silent Nichyn were left in the front room. Veras eyed Zekk warily; she had heard that he had turned on his Imperial ties, even that he had played a key role in the New Empire's defeat, but such rumours were still new. She didn't trust him any further than Nichyn could throw him.

"Do you want anything to eat?" the nervous, dark-haired man now asked, well-aware of Veras' hostile gaze. Spotting Nichyn (the kid had an annoying talent of remaining unnoticed until he wanted to be seen—survivor's instincts), who didn't appear to recognize Zekk at all, the former Darkest Knight tried his luck with the teen. "Jaina and Sanar have a well-stocked sugar cabinet."

"I am—I am quite alright," Nichyn murmured, casting his gaze around the room. The front room branched out, to left as a larger room with couches and some unrecognizable technology, to the right a kitchen, and straight ahead to a hallway. Understanding that they should wait in the living room, the group headed for the couches, and Nichyn looked around. The décor was warm, but followed no pattern, and Jaina's life seemed to peek through more than that of Sanar—holos of the Solo family, and of Jaina and friends, were activated on spare flat areas. Over a holo-net set (which Nichyn recognized from his studies) was a large, framed holo picture of Jaina and…Nichyn guessed…Sanar, sitting next to each other comfortably in pajamas, exchanging a look that "knowing" only began to explain.

"Larifx," Veras muttered, seeing the framed picture at the same time as Nichyn. "Now that is uncanny." Her hunter's eyes caught other pictures that had escaped Nichyn's attention—smaller ones, more of Jaina and Sanar, some of Jaina and Zekk, several posed, but just as many catching the people off-guard. "Sanar looks…"

"I look what?"

Veras turned around abruptly, her head snapping in its speed. Sanar stood, a little nervously, in the entrance to the living room. She wore lounge pants and a simple, modest red shirt. "Sanar. I…you…" Veras blinked rapidly, trying to recover her equilibrium. Never—not once, in the past nine years—had the bounty hunter pictured her former friend in a nice, moderately-priced apartment, with a female roommate. Sanar was too cranky to get along with roommates—especially if they were female.

And yet, here she was. Shooting Jaina a glance, who returned it with a reassuring smile; comfortable in her surprisingly…normal and adjusted…_home_. Bizarre. "You look great," Veras finally managed to push out. "Really. I mean…wow. I wasn't expecting…"

Sanar smirked (at least that hadn't changed), and shrugged. "Yeah, well, nine years is a long time." She looked at Jaina, then over to Zekk, before continuing. "So, uh, not that I'm not glad to see you, Veras, but… Wait." She stared at Braun. "Who are you? And why hasn't Veras beaten you up?"

"This is my husband, Braun," Veras introduced, blushing despite herself. Once, she and Sanar had shared their wariness (if not outright hatred) for men. What must Sanar think? Personally, _she_ felt rather like a teenager caught ditching her diet by her best friend.

"And you think _I_ had a lobotomy?" Sanar demanded, snorting and crossing her arms over her chest.

Jaina grinned at the room in general, as if she knew something that they all did not. "I'll be in the kitchen." Her eyes rested, briefly, on Nichyn, but she gestured for Zekk to follow her. "Call if you need anything."

"So, are you going to sit, or what?" Sanar asked her guests archly.

"'Call if you need anything'?" Veras retorted. "Since when do you have friends who say things like that?" She paused, reconsidering her past relationship with Sanar. "Since when do you have friends, _period_?"

Sanar's expression was stormy, defensive. "Just sit down already. It's been nine years. A lot's happened. And Jaina—Solo's…" She glanced down, mouth quirking. "That's too complicated. But we _aren't_ friends."

"Sure you aren't," Veras said dryly, but she sat, and Braun and Nichyn copied her.

"Well?" Sanar demanded when neither Veras nor Braun spoke. "After nine years, and probably some tracking me down, I assume you weren't just 'in the neighbourhood'."

The Yd couple exchanged a look; Nichyn studied his aunt's features.

Sanar sighed loudly before giving in to the need to be perceptive, and scanned each person's features. "Who's the kid? Your hidden-from-society bastard son? Literally, and without offence, of course."

Veras chuckled despite herself. "Actually," she said pointedly, "he's Clayra's."

Tensing, Sanar stared at Nichyn, her eyes approaching wildness before they darkened with pain and memories. "Nichyn?"

For the first time since landing, the teenager spoke. "Hello, Aunt."

Sanar, who had been perched insolently on the arm of a hover-couch, stood nervously. "Nichyn. You're…here." She blinked, surprise stripping her of any sarcastic defences. "Uh, you're—you certainly aren't five years old anymore." She grinned weakly.

"Yes. Time will do that to you," Nichyn offered.

"Oh, I didn't mean—" Uncomfortable, Sanar fumbled for a moment before turning back to Veras. "What's going on? Is Clayra alright?"

"Clayra's fine," Braun was quick to reassure. "She's married, now, to—"

"—to someone who cares about her," Veras interrupted, shooting her husband a glare. Bringing Gantik up probably wasn't the best idea at the moment. Sanar's history with the man was more than a little turbulent.

"Then, uh, why…?" Sanar flicked her head in Nichyn's direction, completely awkward and hating the feeling more every second.

"Clayra's husband is rising in power—he isn't in league with the Jirs, at all, but people pay attention to him. They needed to get Nichyn out before he became embroiled by everything."

"They wanted to train me to be a priest," Nichyn said quietly, shoulders tensing. "The—the others, I mean. Before, we could reject the 'offer' without raising suspicion, but now…"

He didn't have to finish; Sanar remembered. When her mind moved to her next question, however, she trembled with growing rage. "Why didn't Clayra come with him? Did her _loving husband_ make her stay in danger?"

"No, no, Clayra and…her husband…are part of the Resistance. They felt they couldn't leave yet, and certainly not without drawing the Order's attention to friends and colleagues. And, they knew you were out here to raise him."

Seeing Sanar's panic, Braun rushed to say, "We've contacted a family that is very much willing to take Nichyn in as their own, for as long as he needs a home. I don't know what kind of life you have going here…"

Sanar laughed a little, edging on hysteria at the thought of taking in a teenage boy. "Uh, well, it's slightly more domestic than my life five years ago—" She blushed to the roots of her hair; thinking about her very, very brief…sexualrelationshipwithOnyx…was beyond humiliating, "but I'm still… It's not that I don't want you around," she tried to assure her nephew, "but I'm not exactly, uh, mother material. I mean, I don't—I—I still get drunk sometimes, and…and, it's not like I'm married, or have any experience with kids—believe me, I've been careful, not that I don't maybe someday want to have a family, I just—"

Wincing, Veras slapped a hand over Sanar's mouth. "Nichyn gets the idea, Klis."

Sanar's cheeks were scarlet with mortification. "And, did I mention I have a huge problem with keeping my mouth shut when I feel awkward?" She swallowed convulsively. "You'd learn too much from me, really. I'd be the _worst_ Mom-Aunt ever."

"I—It's okay," Nichyn muttered, studying his feet uncomfortably. "You have a life. I understand."

"That's _not_ what I meant!" Sanar snapped, losing her patience to her irritation. "I'm no good with kids."

"Presumably, you would learn," Braun remarked.

"I guess, but—" Sanar broke off suddenly, her eyes becoming thoughtful. "I might not…be around here…much longer."

"What do you mean?" Veras demanded sharply, eyeing her friend. A long time ago, Sanar had mentioned visions, but Veras had always brushed the idea off as one of Sanar's comfort-stories.

Sanar blinked, then narrowed her eyes pensively. "I don't think I'll be in the Galactic Alliance much longer at all," she said.

Then she leaned back against the wall and refused to explain further.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	73. Ch6: The Call Back

**Chapter Six: The Call Back**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

She may have "grown up" (according to Jaina), and she might have resigned herself to at least _trying_ to do the right thing (even if she inevitably messed it up even before she started), but Sanar still avoided looking the truth in the eye. That just wasn't her style. Instead, she watched as Veras, Braun, and Clayra's son returned to their ship, with a promise to come back the next day, and then she settled down into the comfiest couch she and Jaina owned.

Veras had stared at the comfortable living room for long intervals, unable to reconcile the setting as Sanar's home. The holo-images of genuine friends of both Jaina and Sanar were bizarre, considering Sanar's past. The décor was in warm, cozy colours, but not luxurious, and certainly not pretentious—two adjectives that call-dancers (such as Sanar had once been) used in spades. The carpeting was worn but soft, and the sunset could be seen through two windows. What was more, Sanar _liked_ this room, and the familial, easy atmosphere she and Jaina had worked to create. She enjoyed settling down on the second-hand couch (a piece for which she and Jaina had tag-team bargained for the better part of two hours), wrapped up in the warm, woven multi-thread blanket the Solo parentals had given their daughter and her 'sister'.

Five—even three—years ago, Sanar would never have expected to enjoy the life into which she had currently settled. When Jaina had suggested they live together three and a half years ago, Sanar had laughed the Jedi right out of the room. Eventually, she had agreed, if only because it was a way to save rent and still have dominion over most of the apartment (Jaina, naturally, always out being a hero).

But since then, to Jaina and herself, Sanar had managed to confess a love of her new life, and all its comforts and securities. Sanar's entire life had been fraught with pain and danger; even her childhood had had a hammer overhead, waiting to crush everything, although she had ignored it then. When her father's part in the Resistance had been found out, Sanar's life had been smashed into smithereens—Jarran Klis was sent off to Carida, where he died and left his mourning family; Caesarea withdrew into herself, away from her children; Devnos had changed in ways Sanar had never been able to foresee; and Sanar and Clayra…

Naturally, Sanar had been wary to accept the life that Jaina, Zekk and even Kyp enjoyed—the Galactic Dream, even if the three were all-too-hero even in their daily lives. Only five years ago, Sanar had been not only a slave, but little more than a strip dancer with a good name—if that. She could (quite humiliatingly) admit that she had gone further than that in the case of Lord Onyx, who was now Zekk, who was now the fiancé of Sanar's 'sister'.

Of course Sanar had been wary about this lifestyle, and the family get-togethers (with inside jokes, tacky hats and all), and the accepted-by-association friends, and the "I would die for you" melodramatics that more than occasionally popped out of heroes' mouths.

But, hey, Leia Organa Solo might be a princess, but she made Sanar's nerf-steak _exactly_ the way she liked it, just for her, just because the princess 'cared'. And Cerasy was the best shot Sanar had ever seen, and the red-haired bounty hunter always knew when it was time to just slum it in some nasty bar, and drink until you were under the table, and there were no nightmares or annoyances, just blackness; but she also paid the bartender to make sure no one tried anything. Kriff it, even Durron was a part of this strangely wonderful life, and she couldn't imagine not having him around to hate.

And then, of course, there was Jaina…

Jaina Solo was the worst hero of them all. The younger woman believed in _happily ever after_s and soulmates, for Mujir's sake! She could (or chose to) only see good vanquishing evil, and never the other way around; Jaina would probably die for some kid she had never met. Just like she would for Sanar—without a thought to the contrary. Sanar, somewhat reluctantly and without thinking it through, had brought Jaina back to life five years ago; Brakiss had almost cracked her head open, and Jaina—being the hero she was—had given in to Death, because she had been told it was the only way for Zekk to come back in place of Onyx. Sanar had followed Jaina into the River that separated Life and Death, barely anchored and anchoring Jaina, when the two women were anything but friends. In return, Sanar had found a new sister, even when she didn't want one. They squabbled and teased each other mercilessly, but they had their moments, too.

And, when Sanar felt particularly honest, she wouldn't trade that relationship for anything.

All of this, the friends and family, the comfort—lafit, even Durron… It was her life now, and she didn't want to leave it. She didn't even know if she could.

She shifted on the couch, stretching out and laying her head on the armrest. Who would have thought that she, Sanar Klis, former Imperial slave, formerly under the care of a sadistic priest, the sister of a Dark Jedi, would have a maroon, well-worn couch that didn't match the carpet just right? Not her. But she didn't have to say it out loud, did she? She could just ignore the signs, and continue to take this all for granted. She didn't need to think about everything she'd left behind; _she_ had dragged herself out of the wreckage (of Daddy's death, Devnos' betrayal, Mama's indifference, Horaire's—oh, stars, don't think about it, don't think about it—). When did she start caring about other people? Everything in her had been devastated, but she'd made something of it all. Sort of. It was _enough_.

Redemption was too unattainable, anyway.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_Sanar Klis was well-acquainted with this exhaustion. It froze everything in her bones, making them brittle to the touch; it turned her blood to slush, until she was driven every second to lay her head down and sleep forever, even though she knew the nightmares were almost as bad as the reality._

_But today…today was a little worse than normal. It was the suspense. Horaire had not shoved her into a room, hadn't shredded her down to the nothing she knew herself to be; he hadn't thrown her to the stone floor, or raved about his god, Pucijir, and how Sanar's only hope to avoid the deepest, dankest level of Hell was to submit to him. She jumped at every movement and shadow, wondering if he was particularly fanatical today, and so was going to send one of his adepts for her, one of his boys to join in on the fun._

_She didn't even consider that he had grown tired of her; Sanar knew better. In her, Horaire had seen Jarran Klis' pride and rebellion, and he was obsessed with breaking her. He would never let her go._

_But, she comforted herself, at least she had not seen Clayra today, either. As much as Sanar loved her younger, fragile sister—wasn't the proof of that love in what she let Horaire to do her, and her alone?—she couldn't see Clayra right now. The tension had to be jumping off Sanar's skin, the terror out of her eyes, and Clayra was too lafit sensitive to Sanar's moods for her own good._

_Clayra had been strangely fortunate, in that the husband Horaire had chosen for her (an adept named Kalav) lacked imagination and true fervour for Pucijir. Her little bit of luck had also held in that Kalav lay with the girl once, impregnated her, and had then gotten himself killed. For her young son and "grieving period", Clayra was safer than most women. Not safe enough, of course—never that—but for the past four years, the load on Sanar's shoulders had been just a little lighter._

_That time could run out, though; Horaire had always had a sick obsession with innocence, and breaking the already-frail; Sanar was all too aware of that, and so she continued to submit to the high priest. It wasn't, after all, as if she could lose much more of her soul. Clayra's was the only innocence that could even possibly be salvaged._

_/_"Look out for your little sister, Princess. I love you, and I trust you to do this."_/_

_Always, Daddy._

_"Sanar."_

_She flinched, but turned (weary and wary) to the owner of that cold, indifferent voice. "What do you want, Devnos?"_

_Her brother scanned the narrow hallway briefly, then scrutinized her impassively. "Where is Clayra?" he queried distantly._

_"I don't know," Sanar sighed, barely able to look at Devnos anymore. It hurt too much—even more than Horaire, some days._

_Devnos stepped forward, began to say something, closed his mouth, then tried again. "Brown—Sanar, I need you to find Clayra. Right now."_

_Sanar folded her arms over her chest stubbornly. "Go back to your quarters, Devy-boy," she cranked. "You gave up on me and Clayra years ago; neither of us owes you anything."_

_"Sanar Klis," Devnos snapped, grabbing and yanking on her arm. "I am not going to say this again: Find. Clayra."_

_It was the surprising, poorly hidden fear in Devnos' eyes that did her in. Without another word to the protest, Sanar closed her eyes. Easily finding the ties that connected her to Clayra, she traced her little sister's spirit line to—_

_Oh gods. Oh stars in the heavens, oh Force, oh—_

CLAYRA!

_Devnos was shoved to the side, where he stared after her, as Sanar chased her sister's presence. Sanar nearly burst a lung sprinting through the compound, into Horaire's wing, and still it wasn't fast enough._

_In her terror, Sanar threw doors open heedlessly, searching for Clayra and Horaire. When she saw Nichyn ambling innocently around the antechamber of a sanctuary, Sanar knew she had found the right place, and she nearly died on the spot. Barely pausing to direct Nichyn into a corner with orders to stay put and cover his ears until his mama came, Sanar threw the far door open and raced in._

_The first thing that made its way through the haze of her terror was Horaire's shouting. The high priest for Pucijir had always loved the sound of his own voice—always he went on and on, even as he shoved Sanar down to the ground and ripped away her pride._

_But he hadn't started on Clayra—not fully, not yet._

Not ever_, Sanar vowed._

_Something clicked in her that moment, some vestige of sanity left her, and instinct and hate and fear took over. While Horaire screamed about Pucijir's might, and female degradation, and how Clayra could only be saved by him—_

_The protector in Sanar shattered into something far more dangerous—waiting, by the skin of its teeth, to pounce and tear, tear, tear._

_Sanar barrelled down that aisle to where her sister cowered beneath the high priest. Clayra was ripped from Horaire's grasp, and pushed back to the door. "Run," Sanar ordered._

_Clayra didn't dare look back._

_Only when the entrance to the antechamber slammed shut, did Sanar straighten and turn all of her rage on Horaire. "I told you," she said, "to stay away from my sister."_

_Horaire eyed her in disgust. "You are a waste of my time, niftyax. There is nothing more I can do for your inferior soul. Perhaps your sister can still be salvaged. I will take her under my care."_

_Sanar almost staggered under her own hatred. "If you even_ think_ about touching her, I will—"_

_"You'll…what?" Horaire's black, void-eyes travelled to a large tapestry of the Mother Goddess' defeat under the heel of Pucijir. He smirked. "It is much too late for you to do anything. Your petty attempts to hide your sister's corruption have gone to waste."_

_Any remaining restraint snapped. All Sanar knew was Clayra, and hate, and fear, and blood—so much blood. Fingernails, scraping; fists, smashing; hands, throwing; glass, shattering; and always blood._

_And then it was all over, and Horaire was spread across his damned, holy steps, in front of his god's triumph-tapestry, and the hilt of his long, ceremonial dagger protruded from his unmoving chest._

_And blood streamed._

_Sanar couldn't move, couldn't breathe, or shout, or run, even though she knew she should. She had killed Pucijir's High Priest, the Emperor's spiritual guidance, and she had done it with his own knife._

_Years passed before she could see anything but her bloody hand around that dagger hilt, and then oxygen scraped and flamed into her lungs, forcing them to work. She fell back, scrabbling away from the corpse and the weapon, barely able to move, and already feeling the horror streak through her blood._

_Clayra, she had told herself she was doing it for Clayra, but Sanar didn't believe that anymore. She was nothing; Pucijir's void had swallowed her soul, and now she had murdered her enemy._

_But it wasn't over._

_Sanar tried to stop screaming, but couldn't, and Holy Brothers and other men heard her shrieks, and they came to see what had happened. They understood the scene instantly; they trussed her up in chains and threw her into the torture cell adjacent to Horaire's chamber._

_But Clayra was safe, and—ironically—with Horaire dead, Sanar was treated better in this prison than she had been when she was "free."_

_She knew they were going to execute her (by stoning? by burning?), so she didn't worry about it. When the door was thrown open, she didn't look up, only buried her face in her knees. Flecks and trails of Horaire's blood had dried on her hands, and she dragged the fingers and palm of one hand across the rough walls, half-heartedly trying to remove the crust. It made no difference._

_"You'll never be rid of it."_

_Sanar's head snapped up in shock, and her surroundings changed, and she was sprawled out in the mud, far away from any habitation. And before her stood Horaire, the dagger hilt still protruding from his black heart. "No," she muttered in denial, shaking her head with increasing speed. "No…no…no, no, no! I_ killed_ you! Go away! You can't…you aren't allowed to…" She shoved her hands over her ears, and squeezed her eyes as tight as she could. "You have to leave me alone now," she whispered pitifully._

_He yanked her hands away from her ears. "I will never leave you," he rasped directly into her face; then he laughed, and the sound assaulted her. "By killing me, niftyax, you tied me to you. You became me."_

_"No…"_

_"What now, niftyax? Will you cry? Will you deny it? Scream at the top of your lungs, lie the way your impure heart tells you to? You are weak…foolish…hopeless."_

_Sanar's wrists were pulled out, until her arms extended, and she realized she was manacled, ankles to the muddy, soggy ground, and wrists to posts. Her brown eyes flew wide in panic, and she struggled against the chains desperately. Above her, thunder rumbled, lightning etched the sky with white light. "Let me go—stop it!" she sobbed. "I'm done here, I'm_ done_—I have a new life! I have…I have…Jaina, a—and Cerasy, and…"_

_"You have nothing, because you are nothing," Horaire sneered cruelly. "As it always was, as it always will be."_

_"I'm not here," she muttered feverishly. "A—a nightmare! This…this_ has_ to be a nightmare," she half-remembered, half-pleaded. "Wake up, Sanar, wake up, wake up, wake—"_

_"You will always be brought back here," Horaire growled mercilessly as the rain began to pour down in icy sheets. "You were born here, and you lived here, and you will die here—_just…like…me_."_

_And the storm raged, and Sanar—her father's Storm Fighter—was lost in the sleet, and the wind, and the thunder and lightning, and the blood that would never wash off of her soul…_

Sanar!

_With white fire, three sevens were carved into the skin above her heart._

Sanar, wake up!

_Through the rain, Holy Brothers gathered, and brawled on one man, utterly focused on tearing him apart. And Sanar felt her heart stop beating at the thought of living without him._

Sanar, it's a dream.

_Then burning, and all that she was made of fell apart, until only He remained, and Sanar was loosed into nothingness…_

Wake up, sister.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar woke up.

She was mostly on the floor, only her feet still tangled up in the couch's cushions and blankets. Her head was in someone's (_sister's_) lap, and through the Force, warmth drifted around her soul. "It was just a dream, Sanar," Jaina murmured, looking down compassionately.

Abruptly sitting, Sanar straightened herself out and avoided Jaina's knowing look. There was no way (_every way_) that Jaina actually saw the dream, and she could only be guessing about what had happened—right?

"Do you want to—"

"No," the older woman snapped. The _last_ thing she wanted to do was talk about it. Talking was for heroes, or even normal people.

_You have nothing, because you are nothing. As it always was, as it always will be._

"Okay…" Jaina watched her kindly, then stood, and helped Sanar up. "Would you like some hot chocolate, then?" She grinned, well aware of Sanar's fondness for the sweet drink that she had only discovered while living with Jaina. "I was about to make some—"

"I don't want any," Sanar growled. "Just leave me alone, Solo."

Worrying her bottom lip, Jaina reached to touch her sister's shoulder, only to have it slapped away. Two pairs of brown eyes flashed. "Don't you have some babies to kiss, Princess?" Sanar all but snarled.

Jaina rolled her eyes in irritation; Sanar always had been a downright hag when she woke up, especially after a nightmare. Usually, though, she brought herself down after a few minutes, and with a little cajoling… "You're right," the Jedi retorted, heading towards the closet to grab her coat. "Babies to kiss, old men to suck up to…and why isn't your coat down on this cheap, middle class floor?"

If Sanar regretted insulting Jaina's stereotype, it didn't show, and Jaina yanked open the door with a little more force than necessary. "The chocolate mix is on the counter if you want it. I'll be back in a few hours."

"Wait!" Sanar called, just before the door slammed shut.

Exasperated but catching the hint of remorse in Sanar's voice, Jaina turned around. "What do you want, Sanar?"

"Where are you going?"

Jaina sighed, but smiled a little, the way she always did when she thought of her fiancé. "I'm meeting up with Zekk at Ta' Loiss Café. Then we'll probably head back to his place for a while. You can reach me on my com-link."

Sanar grinned weakly. "Have fun," she offered.

"I will," Jaina replied happily, willing to forget about their argument until later. Love, she'd found, was like that, when it wasn't a cavern that held the thunderous echoes of sobs, or a storm of unrequited feelings, or…well, just a mess, which it could so easily become.

Sanar sat on the couch for ten minutes before she stood again, and headed for the kitchen. The milk and hot chocolate mix were both out, as well as a long stirring spoon. She considered them for a moment, before shaking her head and putting the milk away.

She _liked_ this life.

_You will always be brought back here. You were born here, and you lived here, and you will die here—_just like me_._

Scowling viciously, she exited the apartment, still in her socks and sleep-rumpled clothes. Crossing the hallway, she went right into Durron's home without knocking.

The Jedi Master, once dead, resurrected by Jaina and Sanar, sat on his long, black couch in the centre of his living room. From hand to hand, he moved a terrible sword that Sanar had seen only twice, but never forgotten. Left hand, right; the blade showing the inscribed JUSTICE, then VENGEANCE. The sword sang warning to all, and Sanar, who knew what it was, flinched. But Kyp Durron was completely unaffected.

Of course, he would be. He was the only one who could carry it, now that Jarran Klis, Sanar's father, was dead.

Realizing her presence, Durron looked up, the sword hilt stilling in his right hand. "It's time," he intoned.

Sanar liked this life.

Too bad Na'Lein'yhpaon would always drag her back.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Traffic was worse than usual, and Jaina arrived at Loiss' Café almost fifteen minutes late, despite the head start she had given herself. A glance across the street confirmed that the GA Intel branch had shut down with its customary speed, and Zekk would be waiting for her. Chagrined, she scanned the first level of the café, hoping to spot her fiancé. When she saw not a single patch of black hair (living on Hapes made it so easy), she approached one of the familiar waitresses.

"Do you know what floor Zekk's on?"

Mevara looked up and grinned. "Fifth day already, is it?" the blonde said knowingly. "I swear, you two are like a calendar." She handed Jaina a tray of dishes. "Hold this for a second, would you?"

Following her peer to the side counter, Jaina waited patiently for Mevara to take the time to point out Zekk. When the dishes were safe, Mevara turned back to the Jedi. "Now, what did you…oh, right, Zekk. He's on the second floor, left wing—one of the girl's put up a fight about serving 'Onyx' a cup of coffee while he waited, so they sent me up. Anyway, he's right by the window. I thought he'd be down here as soon as he saw you, but I guess his…companion has him occupied." A mix of disapproval for Zekk and pity for Jaina clouded the Hapan's aura.

_It's nothing_, Jaina knew, but couldn't stop herself from asking, "His companion? A hunchbacked Gamorrean with bad teeth?" She grinned, to show Mevara that she was unthreatened, whoever it was.

"Sorry." More pity. "Female, pretty…looks human, but maybe she's one of those new robots—you know, the ones that…" Mevara stopped and blushed, as if suddenly realizing that bringing up the new line of artificial girlfriends didn't help.

Jaina chuckled. "Oh, one of _those_. Well, if Zekk's cheating on me with a droid, I'll just have to re-circuit _him_. Did you catch a name?"

_Oh, for Force's sake, it's probably just Krista. Get over the irrational jealousy._

_And rip out her entrails if she tries anything…_

"P-something," Mevara thought out loud. "Purdy? Perda?"

"Perdita," Jaina supplied wryly. "They're just co-workers."

And, of course, until Jaina met this _lovely_ woman, she could neither like nor dislike Perdita.

_Would-be manstealer_.

Alright, so she had kind of passed judgement. But only because Zekk talked about Perdita so much that Jaina felt she already knew her.

Still, she felt ridiculous.

Thanking Mevara, Jaina followed the waitress' directions up the stairs, and blocking out Mevara's unwanted (and certainly unwarranted) pity. Upon taking the left door, she immediately spotted Zekk's lean frame and dark hair by the window. His back was to her, giving Jaina an almost perfect view of the stunningly pretty woman who could only be Perdita (as last nameless as Zekk himself). Straight auburn hair was pulled back in a stylish knot, and in her form-fitting black ensemble, the former Imperial assassin looked classy, mature and collected.

Although, from the look on Perdita's face, the other woman had seen Jaina, she remained in her (Jaina's) seat, chatting with Zekk. While the lack of reaction on Perdita's part needled Jaina's pride, the same thing also reassured the Jedi. A girl on the side (something she would never see…right?) would have been scared, embarrassed or smug; Perdita was only dismissive.

Still, when she reached Zekk's table, Jaina's hello kiss was closer to Zekk's mouth than usual in a public setting. "Hey," she greeted softly, her lips still brushing Zekk's.

The smile she felt from him was even more comforting, in that Perdita disappeared completely from her mind. "Hey," he echoed, and the tingles raced up and down Jaina's spine, just like they always did. She wondered if it would always be like this.

A polite cough broke into their world, and Jaina straightened sheepishly.

"Sorry, Perd," Zekk said lightly, not sounding at all remorseful. "Perdita, this is my fiancée, Jaina Solo. Jay, Perdita."

Perdita's eyes were fog grey and impassive as she nodded. "You look just like you do in the tabloids."

Jaina's polite smile dimmed briefly at the disdainful tone. "Nice to meet you," muttered the daughter of a princess. "Zekk has told me so much about you."

Now Perdita looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Oh. He has?" She glanced at Zekk almost nervously before returning her gaze to Jaina. "I didn't know. He talks about you, obviously, but with all the work, and the overseers…well, you know."

Alright, just because she was strangely nervous with talk of Zekk's regard in front of said man's fiancée…that didn't _have_ to mean anything, right?

_Don't think about Onyx's harem. Or how many women Zekk's body has slept with. Don't._

"The distrustful overseers-dictators putting a lock on the mouth zipper," Jaina babbled. "Right. They wouldn't want you to talk about your personal lives during work."

Perdita raised an eyebrow, regaining her composure. "Yes, well, we've managed to find time outside of work to talk."

Zekk—sitting across from Perdita, and in Jaina's head through their bond—was still perfectly at ease, so Jaina refrained from going primal, possessive female on Perdita.

Kriff it, Zekk only thought of Perdita as a friend—Jaina _knew_ that, without question. And even if, in some bizarre parallel universe, Zekk wanted to pursue Perdita, Zekk would never cheat on Jaina to do so. Onyx was the one who played games, not Zekk.

So why the kriff was her jealousy going haywire?

Oh, maybe because Perdita was _gorgeous_; because Perdita could understand Zekk's darkest side, Onyx, in a way that Jaina never could. But what it all came down to was that Jaina recognized the look on Perdita's face when she talked about Zekk: it was the look about which Sanar constantly teased her, the one Jaina had seen in the mirror many, many times in the past fourteen years.

"Well," Perdita said, abruptly breaking the silence into which they had fallen, "I have an appointment to make—I can't really afford to miss my sentencing—and I'm in your spot. I'll see you tomorrow, Zekk, if I haven't been imprisoned or executed. Goodbye, Jaina."

Jaina smiled politely as the other woman gathered her purse and coat. "Goodbye, Perdita."

When the ex-assassin had exited the room, Jaina situated herself in the seat across from Zekk. "She seemed…" All over the place, actually. "She's very pretty."

Zekk shrugged. "I guess." He eyed her suspiciously. "So, what was all that about?"

"What was all what about?" she asked innocently.

His look said it all.

She studied him for a moment, trying to regain her equilibrium now that Perdita had left. His shoulder-length hair was as dark as ever, even in the twilight sun and the café lights. As Intel missions (and, since the war had ended, officework) offered little exposure to the sun, his skin was still only a little darker than it had been when he was 'just' a Coruscant undercity scavenger. The contrast of pale face framed by dark hair only made his vibrant green eyes stand out even more than they would on their own. With varied (and often painful) amounts of experience under his belt, Zekk was still sweet, loyal, compassionate, and…so many other wonderful things, about which Jaina could babble forever, like the lovestruck girl she was.

Of _course_ Perdita was sort of in love with him. What girl in her right mind _wasn't_? Especially when they could see past his dark past, and understand how far he had come since then?

But Zekk loved _her_, Jaina Solo, as much as she loved him. She couldn't even doubt that anymore after half a decade, and even considering his stubbornness.

"You know exactly what I mean," Zekk said. "What did I miss between you and Perdita?"

She shook her head, chuckling at her own groundless insecurity. "Nothing. It was just a silly girl thing." Unable to resist, she leaned across the table and kissed him.

What was the point of being in love if you couldn't flaunt a few examples of PDA in the faces of disapproving coffee-drinkers?

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	74. Ch7: The Sildar

There are multiple updates today, so don't forget to check the chapter numbers :)

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

**Chapter Seven: The Sildar**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"…And yes, I _know_ I was being ridiculous, but when I saw her there with Zekk I just wanted to rip her pretty head off. Because I _knew_ she wanted him, and if you could have seen her—Perdita's like a model! And Onyx had a whole _harem_ of women to cater to his every whim, and…so, you know…" Jaina trailed off and looked at Sanar with a mix of embarrassment, anger and a plea for understanding.

"Wow, so you're human, Solo," Sanar dryly retorted. It was the day after Jaina's date with Zekk, and Sanar had asked Kyp and Zekk to come over to talk about something. Until the men arrived, however, the women were chatting about the "Perdita problem".

"What did you expect?" Sanar continued. "That pretty girls would throw themselves at Zekk, but you would never care because you're _so_ secure about everything, even when you're just twenty-four? Your teen years weren't that long ago."

"But it's annoying!" Jaina pouted. "I don't like being jealous. And I _hate_ being irrationally jealous."

Sanar decided to take pity on the younger woman. "Look, you're human. You're going to get jealous, just like Zekk will when he sees you with other guys. Get used to it, because… I mean, come on. You and Zekk are heroes; your kind doesn't do happily-ever-after-until-the-ugly-break-up. So you'll be married for a long, long time, and have an unbearable amount of kids and grandkids that I'll get sucked into baby-sitting. And you'll have more oh-remember-when stories than you know what to do with."

"I know. I'm being…stupid." Jaina laughed wryly. "I _know_. But I still don't like Perdita."

"Jaina. Zekk loves you as much as you do him. And shouldn't it tell you something that even Onyx was obsessed with you? You don't have anything to worry about, no matter how human it is to get jealous."

The Jedi took a deep breath, releasing it shakily. "Thanks. It's probably just worrying about his sentencing…I mean, how long can it take for the jury to decide? It's so…frustrating."

"Yeah, yeah," Sanar muttered, her monthly amount of sympathy officially out now that Jaina's insecurity complex had been dealt with. "Look, it'll be over, it'll be done with, and then you'll just live with it. That's how life works, Solo."

"Oh, from the sage mind of my collected, mature and settled elder," Jaina mocked. "Your wisdom inspires epiphanies."

"Well, duh." Sanar looked mildly insulted. "What did you expect? Muddled thought patterns because of a nightmare adolescence, and no coping aids from a shrink? You know me better than that, Solo."

"Of course she does," Zekk said, causing the women to jump.

"Lafit, Zekk," Sanar snapped. "Where'd you come from?"

"Ennth," Zekk retorted easily. "Hey, Jay."

Jaina beamed and accepted his kiss even as he ventured further into Sanar's room.

Off Sanar's scowl, Zekk said, "The door was unlocked, and since I'm expected, I wandered in when no one answered my knock."

"How much did you hear?" Sanar asked, glaring pointedly at Jaina, whose eyes immediately widened in understanding.

"Just the last part," Zekk answered obliviously, with a shrug. "Hey, I was _there_ when Jaina went through the Sanar stuff. It wasn't just girl talk anymore."

"You still could have knocked," Sanar told him loftily. "It's my room."

Jaina refrained from snarking something about Sanar's very brief infatuation (obsession) with Onyx.

"Is Durron with you?" Sanar grumbled as she stood.

Taking her hint, Zekk exited Sanar's bedchamber. Jaina and Sanar followed him. "We didn't come together, but he probably… Yep, there he is."

"Great," Sanar said flatly, eyeing Kyp with disdain. "You're late."

"Just by a minute," the Jedi Master pointed out, not taking offence. "Hey, Jaina. You okay?"

Sanar looked back, frowning when she realized that Jaina had frozen in the hallway, and was staring at Kyp. "What the hell is that?" the Solo daughter rasped, face pale.

"What's what?"

Jaina took a stumbling step backwards. "That—that—can't you feel it? It's…crawling up my skin…" She shivered, tucking into herself and against the wall.

Zekk crossed the room carefully, as if he thought he and his oh-so-horrible inner demons were the cause of Jaina's terror. When she made no move to shriek and scuttle further from him, he placed a hand on her shoulder. "Jay? What's wrong?"

Jaina gulped, her eyes still fixed on Kyp. "You don't feel it?" she asked almost meekly.

"C'mon, Solo, what's with the spaz?" Sanar demanded, hiding her own portions of concern and confusion. "Are you trying to escape the horrible trials of being young and pretty by being sent to the psycho ward? Because you'll still have to pay your share of the rent."

"It's the Sildar," Kyp stated, his green eyes scrutinizing Jaina carefully. "She can feel the death on it."

"And hellfire," Jaina gasped, finally finding a mild description, "and vengeance, and judgement, and…" She shuddered visibly, but suddenly straightened, and threw Kyp a stunned look. "Did you say the _Sildar_?"

Zekk pulled Jaina back into the living room. She refused to go beyond the couch, though, as it kept three feet between her and Kyp. "What'd I miss?" the younger man asked. "Should 'the Sildar' mean anything to me? Because I'm drawing a blank."

Kyp stepped back a few paces, giving Jaina the room to collapse onto the couch. "I didn't think it would affect—" he began to apologize.

Jaina shook her head, beginning to regain her composure. "No…no, you couldn't know. I—I'll be fine…I think…just have to get used to it." She smiled weakly.

"Why does it—whatever _it_ is—affect you, Jaina, and no one else?" Zekk demanded, becoming increasingly frustrated as the others ignored his questions.

"Because she died," Sanar answered, the _duh_ left unspoken but still heard. "Obviously, she's more sensitive to it. Durron, you idiot."

"Sanar, it's _fine_," Jaina insisted kindly. "Don't take it out on Kyp—the two of you have enough issues without adding me to the mix."

"But, _Solo_," Sanar whined. "He's the Kavishka. He should _know_ this!"

"_Kyp_ is the Kavishka?" Jaina's eyes widened before she giggled. "Talk about irony."

"Hey," Kyp said, taking offence. "I'll have you know I—"

"Oh, come on, Kyp," Jaina said around a snort. "Sanar's been in love with the Kavishka for _years_—even I got a bit of that, it was so ingrained in her. And then it turns out that _you_ are the Kavishka? It's like, the biggest universal joke ever."

"Guys," Zekk started, only to be interrupted.

"Don't rub it in, Solo," Sanar groused. "And I wasn't in love with the Kavishka! It was just…infantile hero worship. If I had known who this so-called 'hero' was…"

"Guys, shut up!" Zekk demanded, surprising the others into silence. "Just…stop. Obviously, I've been left out on a _major_ explanation, so the three of you can just cut out the arguments and inside jokes until _I_ am on semi-equal ground. Got it?"

Sanar, Jaina and Kyp stared at him almost as if had grown another head.

"Alright," Zekk continued in a more subdued voice, and flushing a little. "First of all, what is a silger, and why does it affect Jaina?"

"_The Sildar_," Kyp corrected pointedly, "is a…magical sword, you could say."

"It can only be used by one person," Jaina added.

"The Kavishka," Sanar inserted.

"Right. Everyone else who even _touches_ it…" Jaina stopped and eyed Kyp warily. "Well, it isn't pretty. A death blow is bad; the blade is malevolent, living vengeance. You can feel it burn your soul away—or so the story goes. But if you get cut by it, the wound festers and grows until you're stark raving mad, covered in boils, and then dead.

"Maybe it's worse, though, if you try to wield the Sildar." Jaina paused, worrying her lip. "I don't—I don't know exactly what happens…but, it isn't…pretty. At all."

"No," Kyp agreed, "it isn't."

"Alright," Zekk said with a firm nod. "No handling of Kyp's sword. Got it."

"That could be taken so wrong," Sanar mused out loud, just to scandalize the others.

Jaina clapped a hand over her mouth to stifle her laughter. "Sanar!"

"What? Like you weren't thinking it, too."

"If I was, it was all you," Jaina retorted primly.

"You just keep telling yourself that," Sanar said, the devil's knowing in her eyes.

"Guys, focus," Zekk interrupted impatiently. "Save the…mockery stuff until later."

Jaina made a face at him. "But it's so much _fun_." When he rolled his eyes, she stuck her tongue out at him. "Oh, fine."

Kyp picked up the explanation again, starting with Zekk's earlier question. "Like I said earlier, Jaina is affected by the Sildar because she knows death intimately, and so she is far more sensitive to what the Sildar stands for." He took another apologetic step away from Jaina.

"Alright. And…the Kavishka?"

Both Jaina and Kyp looked to Sanar for this explanation; she knew the story better than anyone. "Devnos…" Her voice broke. "It was a story my brother wrote, when we were younger. M—Much younger. I was…seven? Maybe eight. Or maybe younger. I can't really remember _not_ knowing about him. But the point is, Devnos was always making up—I thought—these stories, for me and Clayra. For me, especially." Her eyes shuttered to the others (except for Jaina, who would always know), but then she refocused.

"Sorry." She sniffled a little, then forced herself to sound businesslike, and brushed off Jaina's move to comfort her. "I always thought they were just stories. I mean, I loved them, and I loved Devnos even more, but…_I_ had always been the family seer, so I didn't even… Just before Dev—he—died…" Sanar cleared her throat. "He told me that they were real. Prophecies."

Jaina and Zekk shared a look; they had stumbled upon the beginning of their own prophecy in a collection of Devnos' stories.

"I don't even know if I believed him, then." She snorted. "But Devnos said…that the Kavishka story—my favourite one—was going to come true. And that…I…had a part in it."

"Which part?" Jaina couldn't help but ask, her eagerness easily visible to all.

"Larifx if I know," Sanar said impatiently. "Maybe being around to help bring Durron back?"

Jaina's forehead crinkled in thought, but she didn't speak further on the matter. "Okay, go on. What then? I'm guessing I missed something big when we did the Kip-Kyp switch."

"It was after," Sanar explained. "You left to get him a drink of water or something, remember? I stayed behind, because Devnos said that…that I _had_ to do what you asked—be there when you brought Durron back. Plus, I figured I might get a chance to beat him up before you got back…"

Zekk laughed; after a moment, his grin became wry as he recalled what had actually happened.

"Obviously, you didn't," Jaina prompted, causing Kyp to look away uncomfortably.

"No. Things got a little too…strange before I could," Sanar replied, rolling her eyes. "See, Durron started flopping around like a fish on land—nearly knocked over the lamp—so I went to find out what was going on. Except he—he…he _kissed_ me!" Sanar's face was the portrait of righteous indignation.

Jaina's eyes almost popped out of their sockets. "He…what?" she asked weakly, trying to find one emotion to settle on.

"He opened his eyes, stopped flopping for a second, then practically mauled my mouth!"

The younger woman stared at Sanar for a moment, managed to gape at Kyp for another, then burst out into gales of laughter. Despite Sanar's unappreciative glare, Jaina's attack of giggles caused her to fall right off the couch in helpless spasms.

"It isn't funny!" Sanar snapped. "I'm _still_ traumatized! Do you know what it's like, having to wash Durron germs off my mouth?"

Apparently, Jaina didn't sympathize. Her laughter only became more desperate, until she was shaking almost too hard to make any sound.

"Jay, you're turning blue," Zekk offered, looking rather amused himself. When he knew that she had found a way to re-accommodate breathing, he turned to the others with a smirk. "This might take a bit."

"Lafit, this isn't funny," Sanar seethed. "It was… Ugh! Why the hell did you do it, anyway?" she demanded Durron. "Did you think I needed to _remember_ that kind of thing?"

Kyp wasn't quite able to hide his flinch. "I'm sorry," he muttered, still not looking at her.

Finally, Jaina seemed to come down from her giggles, though her face looked as if it would be red for some time. "Oh, be nice, Sanar." Her expression was wiped blank for a moment. "He didn't mean to," she added, more subdued. Again, with her pensive face.

"Whatever. He kissed me. And now that I've said it, I'll go back to repressing, thank you very much."

Slowly, Jaina picked herself up from the floor. She studied Sanar briefly, then grinned slyly. "You do that." Casting a knowing glance at Kyp, she finished, "But we were explaining the Kavishka to Zekk."

"Right," Sanar agreed with a sigh. "Well, after I pushed Durron off, the boys apparently got testosterone poisoning, because they started chasing each other around."

"He tried to kill me," Zekk said plaintively.

"He just came back from the dead," Jaina returned wryly. "Ooh, what a threat to your physical well-being."

"Durron is the Kavishka," Sanar spoke, sounding as if she could barely believe she was saying this. "Death is a much easier friend to such a person."

"Because he has to deal with the Sildar," Zekk finished, beginning to catch on.

"Right. There's some kind of…criteria, for being the Kavishka. Only one person—at a time—fits it perfectly, so only one person can wield the Sildar. I don't know—"

"Death on three counts," Kyp interrupted flatly. "Knowing that you have been the cause of much death…to understand, and be able to handle, the Sildar. Power. A personal stake in the fight… There are others, but those are the only ones I know, really."

"'A personal stake in the fight'?" Sanar repeated, more curious than disdainful, for once. "You don't _have_ a personal reason for this. Other than the fact that I'll _kill_ you if you could help my planet, but didn't."

"Maybe that's it, then," Kyp replied carefully.

To save her friend from some uncomfortable questions, Jaina hurried the conversation along. "What happened after Kyp chased Zekk out of the room? Or…what happened when you figured out Kyp was the Kavishka?"

"It was then," Sanar confirmed, looking more uncertain and sounding a little strangled. "On—on the bed…right by where Durron had been lying… It was the Sildar." She shrugged helplessly, her eyes connecting with Jaina's.

"Hellfire," Jaina breathed, leaning against the couch for support. "So Kyp—_Kyp_—is in a kid's book, a book written by Devnos…and Kyp kissed Sanar. Think I got everything." She smiled gleefully, but then her expression dimmed. "Where is it, Kyp?"

He looked at her briefly, as if gauging her preparation, before nodding. Slowly, he unpinned one shoulder of his cloak, then reached behind him to spring a leather-encased sword, which had rested against his back. It was as safe from others' touch as possible. Jaina stiffened and half-rose, but Kyp ignored her, setting the Sildar on the low caf-table just a foot away from her.

The Sildar's blade was wrapped in thick leather several times; only the hilt was visible, but even that looked deadly. At the crown, the steel flared a little in an engraving of a dragon-like beast's face, with blood red rubies for eyes. Underneath the gleaming steel, the table looked every bit as dull and lifeless as it was.

Slowly, Kyp removed the leather swaddling, revealing a long, thick steel blade. Faintly encrusted, but bold as if it the words were painted in red, was the word "JUSTICE".

_The other side_, Jaina mind-whispered to Zekk, _says "VENGEANCE". Naturally._ She then fully rose to her feet, and moved back onto the couch, torn between burrowing into the cushions, and hovering over the vengeance-creation in awe.

Sanar moved close, muttering, "I still can hardly believe I'm seeing this."

Being the most detached, Zekk was the first to recover. Although his eyes never strayed from the Sildar, he quietly asked, "Why did you wait so long to tell us? And why tell us now?"

"Because," Kyp replied, "it was never time."

"And now it is?" Jaina asked throatily, face carefully impassive.

"Yes." Kyp's expression was hard. "It's time."

"To do…?" Zekk was the only one who didn't know.

"To take back Na'Lein'yhpaon from Pucijir's Order," Sanar answered flatly. "Seven hundred seventy-six years is a long enough reign, don't you think?"

"Seven-seven-six," Jaina mused, drawing a sharp look from Sanar. "Funny. Isn't seven supposed to be a holy number or something for them?"

"It is," Sanar spat. Her eyes were almost black, although her anger was not with her sister.

Jaina rubbed her temples, trying to make sense of an idea that couldn't get through the Sildar's interference. "Seven hundred seventy-six," she muttered wearily, leaning back into the couch.

"Nichyn being sent here…my nightmares… Everything says it's time to go," Sanar stated grimly, having dismissed Jaina's confusion. "We're leaving within two weeks."

"Great," Zekk said, taking in the fervour within Kyp and Sanar's eyes. "But, just to be practical… What about your nephew?"

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	75. Ch8: Normal Life

**Chapter Eight: Normal Life**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"So, I just…I want you to know that just because I'm throwing you on to some family I've never met, that doesn't mean I don't want you around," Sanar babbled while taking a sharp left. As she sped through the intersection, Nichyn watched another speeder spin out of the way. "I mean, I totally stand by me being a _horrible_ aunt, or adoptive mom, or whatever the hell the term is. But it's not that—the not wanting you thing, I mean. Believe me, I'd love to milk you for information on Clayra—I mean, your mom—but there just isn't a lot of time for that. Not that that's the only reason I would want you around!" Sanar panicked.

Nichyn watched her (when he could tear his horrified gaze from the traffic, and the mess his aunt's driving was causing behind her) with a mixture of amusement and curiosity. Sanar didn't notice; Nichyn didn't bother to tell her that he understood better than anyone what NLY women would do for The Cause.

"…Because that isn't it _at all_," his aunt insisted, yanking the bright red speeder into a right turn, then taking her eyes off the road for a terrifying moment. "Really. I'd love to have you around and teach you how to survive this place. Believe me, there are some _weird_ customs. And the whole gender equality thing? Wow, that took a delightful amount of time to get used to… Gotta love the Galactic Alliance, even if it _was_ set up by heroes…

"But I was talking about you! Um, I'd totally keep you, if you really wanted to be stuck with me. But me and Jaina—oh, and Kyp, I suppose, though how he got to be the Kavishka I don't know—er, well, we have to go…save a world? Give Rafintair and Gaffil a humiliating rear-kick, at the very least. And—and I'm not a good role model at all. You wouldn't believe some of the things I did when I first escaped NL-sithing-Y. I mean, I still cringe when I think about that one time, when I took a job in this really weird club, where I had to—

"Oh! See what I mean? Blah, blah, blah, corrupting you more and more every second, even when I don't _mean_ to—like you didn't see or hear enough on that hell-hole we call the mother-planet. Larifx, aren't you glad to be off there and away from those monster Jirs? At least you were born male… Believe me, what little the priests showed you about 'their' girls? It does not even approach their…their _sickness_. Ugh. No. Stopping now. —Whenever I get started on those sithin'-bantha-dung-disgusting-warftha-eating—_things_ known as priests…"

Nichyn's mother was just the same. Except…quieter. A lot quieter.

Maybe his mother wasn't the best comparison. Dejah, maybe, or even his father.

"…But I think—um, I think these Rym people…er, family…they'll be good for you. I mean, they're _normal_ and stuff. Not even heroes, really, which is good, because Clayra would—well, I don't what she'd do—"

_I'd die if I lost you, my son. Please, don't ever, ever forget me. Stay safe, my darling._

"—but, hell, _I_'d do something drastic on her behalf if you got killed. And believe me, I've done it before. And heroes are always the worst for getting people into trouble. But, uh, the Ryms, they aren't like that. I don't think. I mean…I think the mom's a Jedi, but she isn't big-profile; Jaina said something about her cooling her heels while she raises her kids— See? She's all family-oriented, and stuff. You'll be in good hands. And if you aren't, I will murder them."

_You ever heard of Horaire? Your aunt killed the sadistic beast, thank Mujir. But not soon enough; she held onto her conscience up until that priest threatened your mother. I got visits from him, once or twice, and I'm not going to explain what he did, because soon you'll be looking your aunt in the eye. And you'll know that he saved his worst for her._

Nichyn's mother had told him that his aunt was very protective of her loved ones. He hadn't really thought that would extend to him, too, just because of his mother's blood. Ironic…he wondered what the priests would say about such protection.

"…I _swear_ I will. If you so much as cut your lip because of them, I'll show them the meaning of pain. Every. Single. Lafit. Day. For the rest of their lives."

Nichyn sat back. He didn't tell her, _If you wanted to really scare them, you could just take them for a drive._ Maybe she wouldn't get the joke. Or maybe she would, but he wasn't used to seeing a woman with this much…unmanaged spirit, and certainly not one who looked out for him. Mujir's Resistance members were tough, but they kept control, too.

Were all women like this in the Galactic Alliance?

_The point is that maybe, even though intellectually you know equality is right, you don't really believe it? You've only ever had your mother and your adoptive father's word on it, and…_

Oh, Larifx. Things really _were_ going to get interesting.

Next to him, Sanar continued to babble.

She wasn't really that bad at being a protective guardian. Just…so, so different from his mother.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"It looks…cozy," Sanar said brightly. Her eyes, however, betrayed her half-amusement, part-disdain, and (very small) part-longing for the familial scene.

Nichyn exited the speeder with minimal fumbling, and only a little wobbling on his still-jelly legs. Riding with his aunt had been a crash course in why crash webbing was important. When he had imperceptibly checked his surroundings for threats and other people, the teenager turned his attention to his new home.

It did look cozy, according to Galactic Federation standards—the house had two stories above ground, though Nichyn suspected there was also a basement. Painted light sage, the house had more windows than most, although on the side of each hung curtains. The lawn was well-maintained and lush green, with a flower garden along the house, and a wooden gate protecting the path to the backyard. More than cozy, however, it was very, very different from the clay or brick homes on Na'Lein'yhpaon.

"Hey! You're here!"

Nichyn ignored the young girl's voice as he continued to take in the house. To one side of the porch was a long board that hung from four cords, making him wonder what its purpose was; what chore needed a system that did not look like it lowered something? Unusual, but then from what he had seen of the Galactic Federation, these people had many more things than his home planet.

"Hey," the girl repeated, a little louder this time. Nichyn finally looked up rather impatiently. She hopped down from the porch, not bothering with the stairs, and half-jogged across the lawn to where he and Sanar stood. "You're Nichyn Whilem, right?"

"Yes," he answered warily. Why was a girl…?

"Hi," Sanar barked, holding out a hand, which the girl shook. "Yeah, he's Nichyn. Don't mind him. He's getting used to gender equality. If he ignores you, slap him: he should learn quickly."

Nichyn blinked, searched his aunt's face in surprise, then turned back to the stranger, a little more observant this time. He had been with Braun and Veras for almost two weeks, but most of that time had been spent on their ship, the _Prize_. What little time they spent on-planet, there had been no moment to stop and scrutinize the people, so Nichyn took his chance to really look at the first free girl-child he had seen.

She looked both older and younger than he. Her eyes were still bright and innocent, though she was his height. Her skin was slightly tanned, but completely unscarred: both were unusual on all the girls he had known previously. Swept away from her face in an unfinished kind of braid, her hair was dark blond, with various colours highlighting the strands. Scanning the rest of her quickly, he noted that her indigo pants and pink, sleeveless top hid no weapons.

"Hi," she said, blushing a little under his regard. "I'm Lera. Well, Lerasina, but everyone calls me Lera."

"Nichyn," he replied, still cautious, though he (awkwardly) took her hand.

"Shanya said you were coming soon—you're kinda early, though. Um, where's your luggage? I can help carry some of it in…"

"Yeah, he's got some stuff in the back," Sanar said easily, taking charge. "He'll take most of it himself, though, as a _gentleman_." She went to the back of the speeder, opening the trunk, and winked at Lera.

Lera grinned, seeming to become a little more at ease with the prickly woman. "So, what planet are you from, Nichyn?"

He gave her a sharp look, as if he expected her to be a double agent. Her eyes, however, were sufficiently sincere, and he felt foolish for doing so. "Na'Lein'yhpaon."

"Never heard of it."

"It isn't in the Galactic Federation."

She nodded, taking one of his lightest bags from Sanar. "Okay. Oh, um, Shanya is just inside making some lunch—once I've got you settled in and stuff, I'll take you to see her. And Arelyk and Zuleika are still training. Or—or maybe they're driving back from training. But they'll be home in an hour."

Nichyn didn't respond. He only took the two heaviest suitcases out of the speeder's trunk and watched Lera throw her designated bag over her shoulder with ease. "Follow me."

A strange mix of confidence and shyness, he thought as he stayed a step behind Lera. On Na'Lein'yhpaon, most of the women were either fiery, bitter freedom fighters, or subdued, wincing slaves. Very few were anywhere in between, and yet Lera was most clearly one of those grey spots. Was she the normal girl on this planet? Or unique from the others, the way she was from Na'Lein'yhpaon girls?

_You'll have time to figure out later._ A frightening concept.

"…So your room is upstairs. I'll show you up there, first, and then give you the grand tour. Are you hungry?"

Nichyn shrugged.

"Oh, well, um, after I show you around, hopefully Shanya will have made the lunch, so you can eat then, okay?" When he still didn't reply, she tried, "Mrs. Rym is making her palla soup and green bread—you'll love it."

Even Sanar, who barely used manners herself, was irritated with Nichyn's continued silence, and she elbowed him. "Sorry," she muttered to Lera. "He's significantly lacking in social graces."

Lera blushed and smiled faintly. "Oh, no, that's fine," she said shyly. "I've lived here all my life; I can't imagine how I'd react if I moved to…I don't know…Corellia."

"You're my new sister?" Nichyn asked abruptly.

Lera's brown eyes widened a little as she stopped on the stairs, turning back to look at him. "M-me? No, no. I'm not. Nope. I live next door. I just—Arelyk, your, um, foster brother, he's my best friend. I'm over here a lot—I was just talking with Shanya before you came. My parents…"

She— Girls were allowed out of the house without their husbands? Or was this Arelyk her husband's brother?

Sanar saw Nichyn's look and rolled her eyes, but left it for the moment. He'd find out soon enough. "Well, where's his room?" she asked instead. "Nichyn packs like a teen girl—no offence, Lera—and I'm feeling this bag's weight."

"Oh, right." Lera blushed. "S-sorry. It's up here."

Up a flight of stairs and to the right, to be more specific. Lera palmed the access, and ducked under the rising door. When Nichyn followed her, she offered him a shy smile, tucking a strand of escaped hair behind her ear. "D—do you like it?"

The walls had been painted soft, rustic brown, and the floor was dark wood, and Nichyn wondered if the room's decorators had somehow known that this felt that much more like home. On the far side, a twin bed with a Hapan-woven thread blanket was pushed against the wall, with a bureau cornering it. Other than these things and a glow-ball, the room was bare. "It's nice," Nichyn accepted a little uncertainly.

"It's— Arelyk and I repainted it a week ago, so the paint fumes should be gone by now. A-and I know it looks kinda Spartan right now, but we wanted to let you decorate it how you want it."

Nichyn set his bags down at the foot of his bed, and looked around. "Alright." He sank into the bedspread, fingering the vibrant colours of the weave.

"Oh!" Lera said, eyes brightening, after an awkward moment. "I almost forgot." She dashed out of the room, only to return minutes later with some string clutched in her hand.

"Give me your right hand," she ordered.

Nichyn blinked at her.

"Come on, it's tradition." A second later, when he still hadn't moved, she shrugged and grabbed his wrist. In a deft movement, she slipped a few dice-shaped charms onto the string and then tied it around Nichyn's wrist. "The charms are for success, love, joy, peace and hope, and the string was made by Arelyk's grandmother," she explained.

"As the youngest person in the house at the time of your arrival, and as a close female friend of the family, it is my duty to greet you, according to custom, into your new home. May your life be filled with meaning, your spirit with strength, and your heart with joy and love, for all the days of your life." Contrary to her previous shyness, Lera did not stumble over the obviously well-practiced speech.

Nichyn's gaze stayed on Lera as he lowered his hand. "Thank you."

Again, she blushed. "No problem."

As if he had suddenly grown a mouth and acquired some manners, Nichyn smiled at Lera and rose from the bed. "You said…'Shanya' was preparing a meal?"

"Yep. —Oh, I did tell you that Shanya's your foster mom, right?"

"No, you did not, but I assumed it."

Lera's expression was one of guilt and contrition. "Sorry. Here I was, blabbing on and on like the nervous, weird kid I am, and you didn't even know who I was talking about, did you?" Before Nichyn could reassure her, Lera continued. "Well, um, the—the kitchen's downstairs. So just…follow me. Again." She grinned helplessly at the repetition.

Nichyn had expected brick, stone and clay in the kitchen, if nowhere else, but instead he found glass, pale yellow walls, and polished black flooring. The kitchen was actually one large room, with a half-partition between cooking area and dining room. Hanging on the walls were what Nichyn assumed to be family photos, student reports, and a few pieces of "art"—old, childish creations of finger paints and cut out paper. Unaware of their presence, a woman (who, by default, could only be Shanya) was preparing food.

Shanya's earth-brown hair was cut short in a bob Nichyn had only ever seen on the priests' beardless pages. Although not the stereotype of pretty, her features were clean and strong. From the warm dignity in her carriage, Nichyn detected a fighter as well as a mother—something he had never seen so well combined before this woman. Shanya, he decided, would fight for Mujir's Resistance, if ever she visited Na'Lein'yhpaon.

"Shanya, Nichyn's here," Lera said, interrupting his musings. To his surprise, the girl seemed more confident now. Not, he admitted, that that was saying a great deal.

Shanya looked up and smiled warmly, wiping her hands on a dish towel. "Nichyn…and you must be Sanar? Give me just a minute, will you, and I'll get the bread out of the oven." A moment later, Shanya placed a small pan on the counter, then stepped out of the kitchen area.

"You look just like the holo Braun and Veras sent," Shanya remarked smilingly, resting a motherly hand on Nichyn's shoulder. "A little on the thin side, but Zuleika's dessert-cooking spree should cure you of that." She winked.

"Uh, thanks," Nichyn mumbled in confusion. _A little on the thin side_? He was thicker than many boys he knew, and overweight compared to the girls. Uncomfortable, he drew his fingers through his dark hair.

"Oh, I see Lera remembered to give you the charms," Shanya commented when she noticed the bracelet on his right wrist. "Did the speech practice help with your nerves, sweetie?" she asked Lera.

Predictably, Lera blushed. "Yes."

"If you were nervous, I couldn't tell," Nichyn offered with a faint smile.

The girl blushed even more. "Thanks." Then, in an obvious foray to remove the attention from her, she asked, "So, is it ready? It smells yummy."

"Thank you, sweetie." Shanya smiled at the girl. "I'm just letting it cool down. Why don't you all take a seat at the table?"

"Actually," Sanar declined uncomfortably, "I really need to get going. I'd love to stay, really, but I just…you know how it is?"

Shanya glanced at Nichyn, her forehead creasing a little, but she said, "Of course. Veras told me something of the situation; we'll take care of him as if he was our own—don't worry more than you have to."

"There are these…assassin guys," Sanar began. "If they come…"

"They won't," Nichyn said.

"The Holy Brothers came after me," Sanar snapped. "I never thought that would happen, even if I _did_ kill Horaire."

Lera looked fascinated.

"They won't come after me," Nichyn insisted again. "Everyone thinks I'm dead. Mama and Father planned everything."

Sanar's jaw clenched, and she pinned Shanya with her eyes. "If they find out, and decide to come for him…"

"I am a Jedi, Miss Klis," Shanya replied, almost coolly. "I assure you that your nephew will be safe, even if I have to call in old friends and favours."

"He'll be fine," Lera said firmly, surprising Sanar, who had thought the girl was afraid of her.

"If you say so," Sanar responded dryly.

To Nichyn's surprise, Lera met Sanar's eyes without the faintest pink in her cheeks.

"I'll see you when we get back, kiddo," Sanar finally said, looking away from Lera. Awkwardly, she hugged the teenager, discretely slipping a small object into his pocket. "Maybe you'll even be able to go home, then, if you want."

"Maybe," he agreed impassively, drawing Lera's curious stare.

Sanar briefly smiled at Shanya, then impulsively winked at Lera. "Show him the ropes, but if he gets chauvinistic, go liberated-girl on him."

The girl laughed, taking Sanar's words as a joke as they (mostly) were. "Will do," she replied, grinning freely.

No one—thought Nichyn—least of all girls, smiled like that on Na'Lein'yhpaon.

_They should_.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Nichyn had spent a befuddling forty minutes with two (_female_) "equals" before the men arrived.

The men, and the most bewildering girl yet.

Timmis Rym was Shanya's husband—and that was how he introduced himself. "Shanya's husband." He kissed, hugged and teased his "wife" without hesitation. The red-haired man even took out the garbage when Shanya asked (albeit after two repetitions). To Lera, he was warm and fatherly in a way Nichyn had heard his grandfather had been; there was nothing tainted in Timmis and Lera's interaction, and Nichyn found himself both relieved and awestruck.

The second man—Arelyk—was a sandy-haired youth who seemed so easygoing it could be dangerous to his health. To Nichyn's eyes, Arelyk was little more than a boy, but Lera had fairly lit up when her friend appeared in the door. Since then, she had been far more open, and had quickly acclimated to Nichyn's presence. He had noticed this with his mother—Clayra would become more comfortable (and, consequently, more like herself) when she was around Gantik.

The last "new" arrival was named Zuleika. Her bright auburn curls framed her face flawlessly and contrasted with her blue-green eyes—and it looked like she knew it. "Darlings!" she said throatily when she appeared in the kitchen doorway. In a dramatic way, she threw her arms out and struck a pose. "You can all start enjoying life—I am here. Ah, and you are the new one?" she asked, in a slightly more normal voice.

Nichyn stared at her for a moment before saying, "Yes, I am Nichyn."

Zuleika smiled brightly, and tossed her hair so that it glistened in the light. "Wonderful! I'm a year older than Arelyk. You are fourteen, correct? What is your lifeday?"

"My what?"

"When will you be fifteen?" Zuleika revised, a tad impatiently.

She had to be speaking about standard years. Nichyn did a quick mental calculation. "I will have fifteen years in three months' time."

"_Great_! Lera," Zuleika snapped her fingers, then pointed one at the shy girl, "get your mind on love triangle plots. There is _finally_ hope—Nichyn is so much better than Jolesp and Arelyk. I mean, really, ew." She shuddered.

Nichyn frowned in confusion, then looked to Lera for clarification. Thus far, he trusted her significantly more than he did the others.

"Zuleika's an actress," Lera quietly obliged him. Her lips twisted wryly, suggesting that she had some less-than-gracious opinions about Zuleika. "She and Hasi play the leads in Jolesp's holo-vids."

When Nichyn's eyebrows rose in continued confusion, the dishwater blonde smiled and shrugged. "I'll tell you later."

"Oh, go ahead and explain now, Lera," Shanya encouraged from behind the counter. "I need the others to set up for dinner now, anyway. Are you going to stay for dinner tonight?"

Lera glanced at Nichyn briefly before she shrugged tentatively. "I—I don't know. I mean, this is your first meal as a family-ish thing and I…"

"C'mon, Ler," Arelyk said cheerfully. He swung an arm around Lera's shoulders. "You _are_ family."

She shook her head determinedly, although her eyes rested adoringly on Arelyk. "Maybe tomorrow night. Or for lunch, or something, since you don't have school tomorrow."

"And what will you eat tonight? Noodles and cheese? Aren't your parents out for the night?"

Lera nodded eagerly. "They said they want to spend more time together!" she exclaimed in delight.

Timmis and Shanya exchanged a look, and Zuleika shook her head in a melodramatic, knowing way before ascending the stairs. Lera didn't seem to notice, and Arelyk didn't acknowledge them. "That's great, Ler, really—but now you're definitely staying for dinner. No excuses."

Lera rolled her eyes, but relented, smiling at her friend. "Alright, alright. I'll stay—but I'm going home after." Seeing the start of Arelyk's protest, she cut him off: "I'm a big girl; I can spend the night home alone until my parents get back. Maybe I'll even call Jolesp to help him with 'Haunting'; he's been griping about not having caught this perfect closing shot…"

"It's settled then," Shanya spoke. Nichyn had the feeling that, despite her attempts to back out, Lera would stay until her parents returned, if Shanya and Arelyk had anything to do with it.

"Arelyk, go set the table, and don't forget an extra chair and setting for Nichyn. Timmis, why don't you come help me. Your mother called, by the way…"

As Lera led Nichyn into the living room, the others' voices drifted away. "Well, take a seat," Lera offered shyly. Without waiting for any response from him, she sank into a stuffed chair and curled her legs underneath her. She gave the action no pause or thought—to her, it was normal behaviour.

_Simply fascinating_.

When Lera seemed inclined only to fidget and stare at nothing, Nichyn prompted, "So what was Zuleika talking about earlier?"

Lera started a little, and blushed. "Oh, right. Well, Zuleika's an actress, as is a…friend…of ours, Hasi. They're involved in a theatre group, but Zuleika can't commit to schedules because of her Jedi training. Anyway, Jolesp wants to be a holo-vid director—"

"Holo-vid?" Nichyn interrupted uncertainly.

Lera didn't laugh, which forever endeared her to the other teenager. "Um, captured theatre, kinda? Jolesp wants to be the actors' boss, and get filthy rich, while he does what he loves."

Although not entirely sure he understood, Nichyn said, "Very well. Jolesp wants to be a director, and…"

"And I—I'm a writer," Lera continued shyly.

"You can write?" Nichyn asked before he could stop himself.

"Of course," Lera answered with surprise. "Can't…well, can't you?"

"Of course," he echoed, a little affronted. "I read and write Basic, Na'Lein, and a great deal of the Sacred Tongue. But you're…"

"I'm what?" Lera asked, mud brown eyes a mixture of surprise, defiance and innocence. When he didn't reply, she narrowed her eyes, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I'm _what_?"

"A girl," he stated bluntly.

Lera blinked. "Well, yes, I am. Not that some people notice," she muttered under her breath.

"I don't know any girls my age who are educated."

"Well, now you know two," Lera pointed out reasonably, although she seemed a little offended. "Zuleika and I are both 'educated', as you put it." When he continued to look at her, she shook her head and laughed uncomfortably. "Stop looking at me like I'm a new species. Everyone I know goes to school of some form, and everyone over five is taught to read and write at least Basic."

Nichyn sat back in his chair. "Wow."

"It isn't like that on your planet?" Lera inquired innocently.

He almost laughed. "No, it isn't. Most boys are taught Na'Lein, and sometimes a little of either Basic or the Sacred Tongue, but…"

"None of the girls?"

Nichyn scoffed at the idea. "No."

She stared for a moment. "Wow." Then she laughed.

In all his life, Nichyn had never heard anything so light and pretty.

"You're going to have a time getting used to Gallinore," Lera remarked wryly. "If—if you want, I could try to help you," she offered suddenly, not looking at him. "Zuleika would probably be a bit too…extreme…and Arelyk goes to public school, and Shanya and Timmis have work, but I…."

"I… Thank you."

On NLY, no girl would offer aid to a person of the opposite sex—not without permission from her father or husband, and certainly not without healthy paranoia.

"Well." She smiled sheepishly. "I went off on a tangent again, didn't I? Sorry. Um, oh, so I was saying, Jolesp is a director, and I'm a writer. Between the two of us, we create holo-vids for Hasi and Zuleika to star in."

"You and your…" _what had Gantik said these people called them?_ "…girl friends create and capture stories?"

"Oh, Jolesp is a guy," Lera corrected with a grin. "Arelyk and a few other friends—some of whom are also guys—usually help out as well. But yes, we film holo-vids."

Lera's father let her work with men, unsupervised? Was he insane? Working for the government?

"Uh, so when Zuleika asked for my lifeday…"

"Zuleika's a romantic," Lera told him, rolling her eyes.

What was a romantic?

"She 'adores' acting out love stories—unfortunately, the only two guys who are 'acceptable as a hero' are Jolesp…who she doesn't like very much…and her brother."

"Oh." A…love story? What the lafit hell?

She grinned at his wariness. "Don't worry: I am _so_ not a racy writer."

Racy? He assumed it was slang, but he had never been taught that word. Still, he wasn't sure he wanted to learn too much from a girl all at once. Perhaps he should have spent a little more time with Dejah and Élin, two of the more "moderate" Resistance fighters, before he left home…

"Supper's ready!" Shanya's voice called.

"Be right there!" Lera fairly hollered back. "You ready for your first Rym family dinner?" she asked Nichyn playfully.

Nichyn had the dismal feeling he wasn't ready for much of anything at all. "Sure."

"Hey," Lera said with a gentle smile. She paused his exit with a hand on his shoulder. "It'll be okay."

He tried to smile; it was only a little easier than he had expected. "Thank you."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"What do you think of him?"

Sensing this would be a conversation, and not a quick goodbye, Lera plopped down on the porch stairs. "Nichyn?" she asked.

Arelyk sat next to her, leaning against the wooden post on his left. "Yeah."

"Well, what do you think?" Lera returned. "You're the one with Jedi instincts."

"Hmm."

"'Hmm'?" she teased. "Sounds pretty dire for your new foster brother."

"Nichyn's aunt is the best friend of a friend of Garik Klamath."

"The senator?"

"Diplomat, actually, but bets are on that he'll be more before the year is out. The point is, he's a friend of Mom's from a while back."

"So…?"

"Plus, Nichyn's the nephew of Jaina Solo's best friend. The Solos are pretty much heroes."

"They _are_ heroes," Lera said, her mind drifting a little as she dreamily stared at the stars.

Arelyk gave his friend a moment to commune with her muse about heroic deeds before he spoke again. "Well, so he must be…decent, right? You met his aunt—she must be like the Solos."

Lera hesitated. "Well, I'm not sure about _that_…" After a second's thought, she decided not to mention how downright scary and bewildering Sanar had been, or how Sanar had slipped and mentioned murdering someone…. "But what do you think about _him_?"

The sandy-haired teenager shrugged. "Dunno. Takes time to be sure."

She bumped his shoulder with hers. "But…?"

The Jedi apprentice studied Lera for a moment. "He likes you."

She blinked. "What?"

"He trusts you," Arelyk explained. "And he's trying—to adjust to all the changes. Plus, we've seen no tantrums so far…. For now, he's in my good books."

"Isn't pretty much everyone in your good books?" Lera asked fondly.

"I guess you're right." He grinned at her, which brought an instantaneous echo on Lera's face. "But you usually are," he added, and garnering a blush for his compliment.

"Flattery," Lera tsk-ed, her face still pink.

"So, what _do_ you think of him?"

"He's good people," Lera said decisively. "Confused, lonely and tough, but he's trying to do the right thing. I say you keep him."

Arelyk nodded, pleased. "That's good."

"I—I offered to help Nichyn adjust," Lera told him after a beat. "I thought…since my days are freer than yours, maybe…"

"You don't have to; I think my mom's going to stay home more than usual to help him."

"No, I—I want to."

"He isn't a well of inspiration for your stories," Arelyk pointed out gently.

She blinked at him, hurt. "I wasn't…I never thought that." When he only looked down, she gathered her thoughts again and continued. "I just thought—Nichyn seems kind of weirded out by gender equality. And what's the point of being homeschooled if I'm not going to use my extra time wisely?"

"You're a teacher's dream," he teased her affectionately.

"Oh, shut up," she said primly. Almost as an afterthought, she shoved him.

"Just be careful, then," Arelyk said. "I don't think he'll do anything, but his culture is so different from ours. Watch out, okay?"

"Yeah, yeah, of course. Stick to crowded areas, and run away screaming if he so much as looks at me funny." Lera rolled her eyes.

"Or you could punch him the way I taught you," Arelyk offered graciously.

She gave him a look. "There won't be a problem, Arelyk."

He shrugged. "I'm all for that, too."

"Someday," she teased, "you're gong to hit your rebellious stage, and none of us will know how to deal with an argumentative version of you."

Arelyk grinned.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Up in his room, Nichyn pulled the curtain open just a little more. The breeze—very light, and the opposite of NLY's wind—moved against the fabric, but he held it in place.

"You sure you want to go home alone?" he heard Arelyk ask. "Your parents haven't gotten back yet…"

What kind of friend would let Lera leave the house without an escort, let alone go to an empty house? Nichyn's fist briefly tightened around the bunch of green curtain. Were things really _that_ different here? How could they be?

"Arelyk, I'm a big girl; I can stay home alone for a few hours."

It didn't mean Nichyn would rest any easier; he had seen many, far more grown, women hurt unimaginably by their masters—be they husband, father or priest. Seeing Lera's innocent assurance in her own security was startling—he basked in it; it terrified him. What if someone took that from her? What if someone destroyed it, the way he had seen so many other girls broken? He never wanted to see that again.

After a few more minutes of talking—her parents were brought up again; what was going on with them?—Lera waved goodbye and jogged to the house next door. She confirmed the house as hers when she walked right in; Nichyn hoped she locked the door.

He didn't even lie down in his strange bed, until an adult couple—who had to be Lera's parents—entered Lera's house. Even then, it was a long time before Nichyn could sleep.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	76. Ch9: Changes of Plans, Changes of Hearts

**Chapter Nine: Changes of Plans, Changes of Hearts**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

By the end of the week, Sanar, Kyp, Jaina and Zekk had been joined by Braun and a reluctant Veras, Miko Reglia, and Cerasy and Tiran (newly returned from their honeymoon, but appreciative of a good fight and no small amount of anarchy). Leia and Han Solo had both expressed a fervent desire to go as well. Unfortunately, with the galaxy in its current tumultuous state, and a four-year-old son of whom they were (rightfully, considering the fates of his older brothers) overprotective, they had no choice but to stay behind.

The plan was to leave the next day, with Braun flying them all in the _Prize_. Beyond that, and once on Na'Lein'yhpaon, they had little more than their broad mission statement of "Overthrow the Jir dynasty, and subsequently Pucijir's Order, and install equality for women."

Jaina mused that the whole thing sounded rather grandiose, if one was unaware of how serious the problems caused by Pucijir's Order were.

"Don't pack so many bright clothes," Sanar rebuked her roommate.

Jaina blinked out of her thoughts, and then at the offending red top in her hands. "Right. Colour. Is disrespectful. And women…aren't worthy of red?"

Sanar nodded tightly. "It's Pucijir's colour. Fitting, don't you think?"

"I'm a fourth you—on a good, _I'm me_ day—and you have to ask?"

"Good point. Don't you have any more dark brown or blue?"

Both women looked up at the faint knock. "Zekk?" Jaina called. "Could you…?"

When the knocking continued unanswered, Jaina shrugged and stood. "Look in the back of my closet," she told her sister while backing out of the room. "Maybe there'll be some more 'fitting' clothes back there."

"If there are any, I'll hide them. And then we can go shopping," Sanar said impishly, well aware of Jaina's impatience with clothes hunting.

"You have a death wish," Jaina retorted in exasperation. As far into the living room as she now was, her reply was heard more in Sanar's head than with her ears.

Sanar tuned out the voices at the front of the apartment, and set to work ravaging Jaina's closet of all its blue, brown, green, black and grey. All clothes "decent" enough for Na'Lein'yhpaon were tossed onto Jaina's unmade bed, while the rest were stuffed back into the closet without a thought to their previous organization.

When Jaina still hadn't returned, Sanar gave the clothes a disgruntled look. "Solo!" she yelled peevishly. "I don't care how many times you say you've 'saved' my life—I am _not_ doing your packing. Get your lazy butt back here before I tell Zekk about your Perdita problem!"

"What Perdita problem?" Zekk's voice called back curiously as Sanar walked through the hallway.

"Nothing," Jaina said in exasperation, eliciting a smirk from her sister.

When she reached the front room, Sanar was met with Jaina's glare—which, naturally, she ignored. "It isn't 'nothing' if you try to leave me with your packing," she taunted smugly. Pausing to take in the new arrival, she added, "Hey, Krista."

"Hi, Sanar," Krista returned with her customary sparkle, and her beaming smile. "How are you? Seen any hot guys we can go ogle together?"

Although she inwardly winced at the still slightly flat look in Krista's eyes, Sanar didn't remark on it. "'Fraid I've been spending too much time with Durron to spot any."

"Oh, Kyp," Krista sighed. "Oldie, but goodie. Some guys just never lose it, you know? Even when they're as love-whipped as him."

"Durron's in love?" Sanar repeated, stunned. After a moment, she smirked and barely restrained herself from cackling. "With who?"

Krista rolled her eyes. "Sorry. He made me swear—in front of my _brothers_—not to tell."

Sanar cast a suspicious look at Jaina, who appeared to know the answer, but she decided to leave the interrogation until they were flying to Na'Lein'yhpaon. "So, Kris, I assume you didn't come just to talk about hot guys and Durron."

"Why not?" Krista protested. "I could _so_ have come just for that. That's just like me—boys, boys, boys. Do you want to talk about boys? I like them."

Sanar groaned. "Kris?"

"Fine," the blonde pouted. "I got wind of the date for Zekk's sentencing through some drunken contacts. I didn't realize you were all going on a trip."

"It isn't exactly a vacation," Jaina started wryly.

"'Isn't exactly a vacation'?" Sanar repeated contemptuously. "Could you make up a bigger understatement?"

"You have some degree of dislike for your home planet's government and its men and priests," Jaina supplied flatly and without delay.

She faltered. "Oh, point taken."

"I thought so," Jaina said smugly. "And I was just explaining everything to Krista when you stomped in."

"Hm." Sanar shrugged.

"I've never been to Na'Lein'yhpaon," Krista offered. "But if it's as bad as you say, why hasn't the Galactic Federation done anything about it?"

"NLY isn't part of the GFFA," Zekk informed her.

"It isn't part of the conquered Empire, is it?" Krista asked with a queer expression on her face.

"Nah," Jaina denied. "I think things actually would have been better there if it _was_ Imperial. NLY is independent."

"I see." Krista's eyes were surprisingly grim. "And just how long will this non-vacation take?"

"Who knows?" Sanar said with a one-shoulder shrug. "We're overthrowing a religiously fanatical dictatorship; it isn't going to be a quick walk to the park."

Krista snorted, drawing a surprised stare from even Jaina, who had seen, to an uncomfortable extent, how much the young blonde had been changed by recent years.

"Kris?" the Jedi prodded cautiously. "What is it?"

"Zekk's sentencing is in two weeks, Jaina. Even in the best-case scenario, do you really think the Galactic Federation is going to let him out of their sight for a _second_ without repercussions? I'm all for saving a world, really. But frankly, I like Zekk's sexy head where it is—attached to his sexy body."

Jaina and Zekk exchanged a look. "In other words," Zekk said, "if I leave, I can't come back."

Krista shook her head. "No. I mean that if you leave, your wedding will take place within the Force." She levelled her blue eyes on Zekk squarely, saying pointedly, "They'll go after _both_ of you."

Before Jaina could respond, Zekk snapped, "Why would they go after Jaina? They can't…" His face darkened. "If they even _try_, I'll—"

"Jaina would be helping you escape," Krista answered sardonically. "Everything's so paranoid and bureaucratic right now, they'd make even a Solo a traitor."

Zekk's shoulders slumped wearily. "Then I will stay."

Sanar, already knowing Jaina's response to that, sighed.

"_We_ will stay," Jaina corrected her fiancé, her jaw tight. She'd been separated from Zekk for too long, too many times, in her life. "I'm not leaving you to the dogs."

Remorseful, she slipped an arm around Sanar's waist. "You know I'd come," Jaina said quietly.

The prospect of returning to NLY seemed even scarier than before, now that Jaina wasn't coming. Sanar wondered at that—when had she become so dependant on knowing her sister had her back? "I guess," she replied, trying to sound blasé.

"If there's any chance, I'll be there in an instant," the younger one promised. "And if you really need me…"

Sanar didn't want to talk about what she did or did not need. "You don't seem that surprised," Sanar remarked after a moment, successfully diverting Jaina's attention.

Jaina hesitated. "I'm not," she admitted. "I just…had this feeling…" She exhaled softly, more than a little frustrated. "This isn't my fight."

Some relatively new part of Sanar wanted to protest that if it was her fight, then it was Jaina's fight, too. She stifled that part without further ado, slightly disdainful of her own neediness. "If you say so," she grumbled.

"You won't need me," Jaina told her.

"Of course not," Sanar scoffed. "Need you? Are you insane? I don't need anybody." Without another word, she stomped off to her own room.

"So," Krista said when Sanar's door slammed behind her. "I've got some free time—anyone want to try to sell me on the evilness of these NLY guys?"

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

So it was that the "Kavishka retinue" lost two members, and gained another—a blonde Intelligence agent, newly introduced to the situation. Krista had begun to drift from Intel since the war had ended. Besides, she had said, in order to survive more than two minutes on such as world as NLY, they would need someone familiar with sneaking. It went without saying that, having been raised by three overprotective brothers, Krista was no slouch in the "sneaking" department.

Sanar and Jaina might have neglected to inform Krista of Miko's participation in the mission. It was so just hard to remember, though, with everything going on… Besides, it wouldn't do to give Krista and Miko time to run before they actually took off for NLY; it was high time the two of them got their act together.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"So this is your ship, huh?" Krista asked excitedly, looking around the _Prize_'s lounge.

Veras rubbed her temples; it was far too early for anyone to be this bouncy, especially when they'd be leaving for Na'Lein'yhpaon the next day. "Yeah, it's Braun's."

"I haven't seen a SpaceScraper59 in this good condition in years—do you do all the repairs yourself?" Krista laughed. "Well, duh, of course you do, this thing is practically an antique, and probably as cantankerous as—Miko?" She stopped and stared at the equally surprised former Dark Jedi, who had appeared in a doorway off the lounge.

"Actually, Miko has been pretty agreeable," Braun replied with a shrug, as if he hadn't noticed the tension in the air. "'Course, he's only been onboard for a day—seeing as you know him better, maybe we should look out."

Krista didn't even hear him—strange for her, because the careless, dumb blonde "thing" was mostly an act, particularly since her imprisonment. She needed only seconds to take in Miko's still-sleep-mussed red hair, his casual demeanour, and his shirtless chest (_which led to some particularly yummy thoughts…_). Once her mind had found the data, and had gotten over the whole bare-chest factor, she put two and two together. "Miko? You're—uh—you're coming, too?"

As if suddenly realizing that he had come out of his room half-dressed, Miko finished pulling his shirt over his head, still looking rather dazed. "Well, yes… I helped Sanar get out of some trouble with the Holy Brothers a few years back—told them she was dead, that sort of thing; I thought I'd see it through, since I was already involved. No one mentioned you, though."

Krista stiffened, blue eyes flashing with hurt. "Sorry my presence is such a pain," she said, hearing an insult where Miko had not meant one.

Miko recognized the warning signs too well. "Kris, I didn't mean—"

"They didn't tell me _you_ were going to be here, either, Miko," she continued sullenly. "Don't get all insult-y with me."

He concealed a wince. _Just great_, he thought ironically. _A save-a-world mission with a ticked-off Krista I'm still all-too-pathetically in love with… I should have_ known _I got off too easy when I got no jail time for my Dark actions…_ "Kris…" He sighed in gentle exasperation. "Hey, hey," he soothed, placing his hands on her slim shoulders when she started to speak again. "Start over?" he tried, a tad wryly.

She watched him warily, candy pink lips set in an exaggerated pout.

"I missed you," he offered, understanding her well enough to know that not all of her quarrelsome attitude stemmed from perceived slight.

"Yeah…well…" She paused to consider the worthiness of that apology. After a moment, she shrugged, and then poked him sharply in the chest. "Give a girl some notice next time! I mean, geez, left in the lurch much? Not to mention, Cel and Gryq interrogated like, three billion new potential partners before anyone even half-met their standards. And, um, a six foot Gliq'schot might be a good bodyguard, but they _smell_. Like, it's called personal hygiene, buddy!"

"How horrible," Miko sympathized as he dropped his hands from her shoulders. He struggled to smother his amusement. "But now you can rest easy without the smell, eh?"

"What?" Krista asked, frowning.

"You quit Intel, didn't you? After…"

"I handed in my official resignation last week," she agreed, looking a little wary now. "I didn't—I mean, before—it was just a break. To recuperate, and stuff. My brothers, you know." She laughed, and it sounded all too artificial. "They went ultra-overprotective for a while there. I couldn't even go out dancing without them blowing up into a sticky, 'lock-the-little-sister-up-where-she's-safe mess.'"

Miko's expression softened even more. "Did you really mind this time, Kris?"

She grimaced. "I—" She stopped.

"Are you alright?" he asked compassionately, reaching out as if to caress her cheek before he pulled back again.

After a too-long pause, Krista pasted an almost gaudy smile on her face. "Of course! You know me." Unconsciously rubbing the vein in her left forearm, she turned to Veras and Braun. "Well, great ship. But I have just twenty-eight more hours of guaranteed boys, dancing, boys, and annoying my brothers, and I plan to take advantage of every minute. See you later, kiddos!"

With a last laugh and sparkle, Krista exited through the cockpit, the picture of a happy, normal girl, despite it all.

"So, that's her?" Veras asked when Krista had disappeared completely.

"'Her'?" Miko repeated, startled out of his thoughts.

"The girl who's got you all in a twist."

The red-haired man sighed. "That was Krista," he agreed.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Only when she had bounced off the ship could Krista breathe again.

Hells! If there was a time when she hadn't been expecting to be asked about _that_ time, it was when she was being shown around a stranger's ship! Krista had completely forgotten to put up her guards—not, she thought with a silent curse, that those wouldn't have come crashing down when she saw Miko, anyway.

Krista was blonde—it was an honest fact of her life, and one she usually enjoyed. Her bubbly attitude had gotten her through her parents' deaths, her generally rootless life, and even life's most current (and thus far, most traumatizing) blow to her spirit. Normally, the same thing protected her from being struck speechless when she was reminded of her imprisonment.

But…Miko. Miko Reglia, her only real male friend until he'd left with just thirty minutes' notice, had just walked into the lounge, casually dressed, red hair still mussed from sleep. And just like that, all of Krista's defences had been stripped bare. Seeing Miko, when he had left her with—as far as she could tell—no desire to return, had saddled her with a plethora of emotions.

The years since Miko's departure had been difficult—not because her heart had been greatly damaged, although she had cried on more than one occasion, but because of the death that had followed. The end of the war with the Empire had come at a price for everyone, but especially for the Rebellion's Intelligence. Many agents' luck had simply run out, and Krista had lost several friends.

She hadn't realized how much she relied on Miko's strength until she needed his comfort.

Krista, herself, had been captured by the New Empire a year ago. The experience of prison, torture, and almost her execution, had rocked her to the core, and for months afterwards, she hadn't been even close to herself.

Her three-and-a-half-months-long captivity had seen Krista living in a dark, windowless cell; the social girl's only human contact had been with her interrogators. When they had plied her for all the information she would give (not much that was real or up-to-date, thanks to her Force sensitivity), she had been given a date for her execution. Her food tray (when they bothered to feed her) always had the countdown for her death.

And her dreams always taunted her with everything she had never done, every wrong she _had_ done, all she'd never said…

On her last day of life, however, with a just few hours to spare, Krista had been knocked around one last time, then thrown outside into the roughest Imperial section of Coruscant. Just like that…they had let her go, for no apparent reason. Krista had stumbled away, skeletal and injured, barely caring to shy away from the stormtroopers. Even though no one had tried to stop her, she had barely survived the walk.

But they had let her go.

For weeks she hadn't trusted herself to go to anyone she trusted, terrified as she was that the Empire was tracking her. Instead, beaten and starving, she had huddled in the dark holes of non-civilization until Jaina Solo had found her. It was only after a month of being under her friend's careful watch that Krista had discovered her fear had been groundless. If someone had been watching her at first, they had quickly become distracted by the search for a traitor. Two weeks later, Krista had found out that that traitor was Miko.

The discovery had sent her into a tailspin; had she let Miko's role slip, then forgotten in her terror? With all the drugs they had pumped into her, and with all the torture she had endured, had she lost control of her tongue and betrayed a dear friend? Only hours of frantic soul-searching, and use of the Force by both Krista and Jaina, had reassured her of her silence.

Almost seven months later, Krista began to resemble herself once more. She laughed and smiled; she flirted with, and then quickly forgot, boys with her reputed superficiality. But she had changed, irrevocably, inevitably, forever and always.

One year ago, the "blonde" personality had only been considered an act when she was forced to burble her way out of trouble. Now, it was a garish mask she only felt was her half the time.

A black-and-white war would be good for her. She could reorient herself in the familiar without seeing the ghosts of Imperial prison every-which-way.

_And Miko?_

Well, Jaina and Sanar were obviously planning something. Had they gotten so bored with peace (already) that they were playing matchmaker? Were they out of their minds? Miko left her. _Miko_ left _her_—and without even giving her a chance to respond to his declarations! He'd just dumped them on her, then taken off for parts unknown.

_But then again_, she thought, quickly distracted from what she didn't want to think about, _Miko's really cute. And I've always had a thing for 'reformed' bad guys…_

No. She couldn't do that; Miko was off limits. Even though he'd left (and that had _hurt_) she _liked_ him. So no flirting. Or playing around. No matter how hot he was…

Which was hot. Really, _really_ hot.

And, now that she thought of it, really sexy.

But no flirting.

Oh, maybe just a little…

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	77. Ch10: Beginnings of a Journey

**Chapter Ten: Beginnings of a Journey**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_"Anything you say is going to sound like goodbye."_  
Dawn Summers, "BtVS: Chosen"

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

The weather had chilled over night, and Jaina and Sanar were huddled together, wrapped in the same blanket in an attempt to keep warm. Kyp had the feeling both women had left—or packed, in Sanar's case—their coats behind as an excuse to stay close together. Still, he knew how hard the separation was going to be for the sisters and therefore kept his mouth shut. Considering how snappish Sanar was being, and taking into account Kyp's instinctual sarcasm, it was one of the wisest things Kyp ever did.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar was not clinging. Sanar Klis was not _capable_ of clinging—and certainly not to a hero. It was just…chilly outside. And Jaina had decided to hog the only unpacked portable blanket. _Damned heroes—if it's sacrificing themselves, oh, they're all for that, but as soon as it gets uncomfortable, they're as selfish as anybody._

She certainly wasn't staying close just because she wasn't going to see Jaina again for who-knew-how-long…

"Y—you have that comm I fixed up, right?" Jaina asked, shivering.

"Uh, yeah, it's in my bag…all ready for breaching an atmosphere of stone."

"Okay." Jaina started to say something, then shook her head. Slipping out from the warmth of their shared blanket, the Jedi approached Kyp, who had been waiting a few metres away. "So…" She checked to make sure the Sildar was some distance away, and not hanging from Kyp's belt.

"I'll keep an eye on her," Kyp said, too low for Sanar or Zekk to hear.

"You'll keep both eyes on her, even when you really shouldn't," Jaina countered in the same voice.

"Well, of course," Kyp conceded without embarrassment. "But, occasionally, I'll think of you while I do it."

She laughed, but mind-spoke, _Don't let her…_

"Jay." He grinned wryly. "I'm Kyp Durron, the Jedi who turned his nose up to the Great Luke Skywalker after only a few weeks of training. I don't let anyone push me around."

"I mean it, Kyp," Jaina insisted, voice still too gentle to be heard by anyone else. "Don't…" She sighed. "I know you love her," she said bluntly. "But she's _Sanar_."

"I'm all too aware," he cracked, then became more serious. "Look out for yourself, alright, Jay? If the jury turns on Zekk, try _planning_ before you break him out of jail."

"Like you would?" She shook her head affectionately. "You're such a hypocrite, Kyp Durron."

"Hey, I'm supposed to be a mythical hero now. I have to at least _pretend_ to be responsible."

She flashed the Solo grin. "I'm going to miss you, you know? You…you get it." Her forehead creased just a little.

"Well, not always," he confessed. "Just because we both died, then came back…"

"I know. It's just…it's hard."

He considered her briefly, then embraced her tightly. "The others may not always understand, Jay," he spoke into her ear, "but people aren't always meant to."

"I know." She snuggled into his chest a little more. "I love Zekk, and he loves me—that's everything. Besides, it's stupid to expect a perfect life."

"Exactly right." After another moment, he released his once-apprentice, always friend. "Zekk knows you, Jaina Solo, and you will always have each other."

"That a prophecy?" she teased, but her thoughts flew to an auburn ex-assassin who had seemed only too comfortable with Zekk.

Kyp grinned. "C'mon, Jay, you're just a Solo—why would anyone waste a prophecy on you?"

"Oh, is that how it's going to be?" she asked, mock-indignant. The tension began to dissipate, despite the goodbye.

"That's just how Prophecy is," he agreed cockily. "She's got favourites, you know."

Jaina's eyes darkened, and her face paled. "Kyp…"

He caught her elbow when she gasped; she wasn't looking like her normal self. "Jaina?"

"Don't…" Her gaze drifted without purpose. "Don't let her do it, Kyp." Tears filled her eyes. "Don't lose her."

His expression became pasty. _Don't lose who? Sanar? Someone else?_ "Jaina?!"

As if his raised voice had broken a spell, Jaina snapped back into "normal mode"; blood returned to her cheeks almost immediately, and the tears were blinked away without consideration. "Yes?" she said curiously.

"Do you remember…?"

She recognized his expression quickly, and put two-and-two together. "What I said?" she finished with a sigh. "No. But I'm assuming that I should meditate until I figure out what I meant. What _did_ I say?"

"You told me not to 'let her' or 'lose her'."

Jaina frowned. "'Her' who?"

"That's what I was hoping you could tell me."

"I—It can't be…" Her eyes slid to Sanar, who appeared to be browbeating Zekk. "I mean, the Force would warn me, wouldn't It?" she pleaded.

"I'll keep her safe," Kyp promised, his eyes never leaving Jaina's. "For both of us."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar was more than slightly startled (_grateful?_) when Solo all but threw herself into the other woman's arms. "Whoa, Solo," Sanar muttered uncomfortably, hugging her back. "What's up with you?"

Jaina withdrew slowly, but continued to stay close. "Sanar, just—be careful," she begged.

Warmth spread in Sanar's gut, despite her usual distaste for sentimentality. "Hey, you know me, Jay. I always choose me."

"Except when it involves Clayra, any other person in your family, or some stupid thing that could—or at least _should_—be solved without you getting all—all heroic and—"

"Hey!" Sanar exclaimed. "I am _not_ a hero! You take that back!"

"I will if you promise you won't act like one," Jaina bargained, looking desperate.

Sanar paused, and then softened immeasurably. At that moment, she loved Jaina as much as she did Clayra—the younger sister she had fought for, tooth and nail.

Jaina was worried about Sanar. _I did it_, the older woman thought. _I took a bit of the hero out of Jaina Solo, and gave her some realism. Maybe she'll stay alive a little longer this way._ "I promise, no unnecessary 'heroics'," Sanar said, gently framing Jaina's face with her hands. "Can I get the same from you? Since you _are_ the one who always goes off and decides sacrificing herself is the 'right thing to do'."

Again, Jaina embraced her. "You know me." She laughed a little, but didn't release her hold on Sanar.

Sanar was just grateful that her sister had cracked before _she_ could. "Exactly. I guess I'll have to have _another_…talk…with Zekk about you," Sanar muttered disparagingly into Jaina's hair.

Suddenly, she tensed. "Don't let it go without a fight," Sanar hissed. "Follow your basic instinct."

The Jedi pulled back a little to watch Sanar worriedly. "Sis?"

Sanar released her, but didn't move away. "Animal instinct," she stated firmly. "There are things you can, and can't, live without. Figure out what those are for you."

Not understanding, but trusting her sister, Jaina nodded. "Of course."

"I don't do goodbyes," Sanar began, stepping back.

"I don't want to hear one, anyway," Jaina replied.

Simultaneously, they reached out, grasping hands tightly, eyes shimmering with tears at the parting. Then they stepped apart.

Jaina didn't watch, nor did Sanar look back, as Kyp and Sanar ascended the _Prize_'s ramp.

The goodbye was unspoken; neither wanted to hear it.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_Several hours later, on the_ Prize_, trouble was afoot…_

"Hey! That's _my_ chocolate!"

"Mm…and it's delicious. How do you always get the best stuff?"

"I had a…guy…who makes gourmet chocolate," Krista said, snatching the chocolate bar back as soon as Miko blinked. "So I get it free."

"I could have gone without knowing that," Miko sighed good-naturedly as he leaned back in the lounge seat.

She looked up at him, suddenly uncertain. "I… Can I…?"

He laughed it off. "Kris, I survived a year practically living with you, and seeing all your boy toys. I think I can bear hearing about an ex."

"I—I can be quiet…sometimes…on some topics," she offered, staring at her restless hands. Uncomfortable, she took a big bite of the chocolate.

"Well, now, you've gone and made things awkward," Miko teased, winking. "Don't worry about me, Kris. It's been four years."

"Oh." She looked up then, frowning. "I guess it has."

She sounded hesitant, but Miko shrugged it off as some lingering uncertainty from her time in prison. He didn't act on his suspicions, but only because of how well he had bungled it the last time. "So, this ex just forks over gourmet chocolate? Does he have a female friend I can woo?"

"'This ex' makes the gourmet chocolate, and he's already wooing any girl around him, so tough luck on that," she teased, but her eyes flashed just a little.

"Ah, I see," Miko said with a knowing grin, "and I just can't compete, huh?"

This time, she didn't worry about those nasty possible underlying meanings. "Oh, Miko, did you expect you could?" She winked teasingly, and giggled in delight when her friend laughed.

Maybe things would be okay after all.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"My stars," Sanar muttered at the other end of the lounge, staring wide eyed at the ship's resident newlywed couple. "They're… They're—whispering—sweet nothings!?"

"Not a sight you see everyday," Kyp agreed with a grimace.

The fact that Sanar did not verbally smack him for agreeing with her confirmed the oddness of the display before them:

Cerasy, the bounty hunter who as a child had had a real blaster in place of a stuffed animal, and Tiran Lee-droy, the snarky Jedi Knight, were casting googly eyes at each other.

That is, what passed for googly eyes with Cerasy and Tiran. Most people didn't consider insults sweet, or talk of blasters romantic.

"What _happened_ to her?" Sanar demanded, aghast at her friend's behaviour. "Cerasy used to be so—so—"

"The changes love has brought?" Kyp offered.

"I can't watch," Sanar whimpered when the newlyweds shared a playful kiss. "She's gone. Irrevocably. Forever. Cerasy is no more."

"…It isn't quite that horrible," Kyp dared to suggest. "She's still alive—just married."

"She let him half-win an argument!" Sanar protested. "She's given up! She let a man beat her in a debate!"

Was this really a peek into Sanar's head? Kyp had a feeling overthrowing Rafintair was going to be easier than softening Sanar to him.

"I will _never_ marry," the object of his affection muttered. "Bad enough that even in the GF women are quietly expected to become a housewife, but that kind of…sweetness…would give me a toothache."

"Ah, so you see Jaina and Zekk's future marriage as a bad thing?"

"Don't bring Jaina into this," Sanar snapped. "She's Jaina, and he's Zekk. They're galaxies away from normal, and a universe apart from me."

"Well, _she_ isn't," he pointed out.

Sanar looked down. "No, I guess not. But she's still a hero, and I never will be. Thank Mujir," she tacked on somewhat unconvincingly.

Kyp started to say something, stopped, then began again. "The Solos are different from anyone I've ever met. The rest of us are just trying to keep up as best we can. Of course," he added, "I, for one, wouldn't want to be in their shoes for the galaxy. Being a hero, and knowing every choice you make could noticeably affect the galaxy's changes…"

"Jaina takes on way too much," Sanar agreed (she _couldn't be thinking clearly—agreeing with Kyp Durron?_). "Heroes always…" She sighed and shook her head. "Heroes are just always heroes. I bet not a single one of Jaina's family died working for the Dark side."

"Well, not that I know of Leia's family, no. But Han is Corellian—I'm sure there are a couple crime lords in his family tree."

"Thracken," Sanar smirked. Then, unexpectedly, she asked, "What about you?"

Kyp would have dismissed her question as his own wishful thinking, but she turned to him with a raised eyebrow, clearly waiting for an answer.

"Well, I—" he stumbled. "My parents were colonists. Just…normal people." Normal people he had lost years ago, and whom he had not seen even on the other side of the River. Had it been because of his then-future role as the Kavishka? "I was the first case of Darkness—or, really, difference—unless you count Zeth's training as a stormtrooper."

"Was he—your brother—was he really on Carida when…?"

Sanar's voice was hushed, but Kyp heard her perfectly nonetheless. He swallowed hard as Zeth's face flew through his mind. "He was. I—I didn't know until I had already…" He couldn't look at her. "When I found out, I tried to…but this man, he—he pushed Zeth away, trying to get to the ship himself… I couldn't stop it."

"Devnos—" Sanar stopped, and wetted her lips. "It's funny. When we were kids, before—" she didn't say _before our father died_, and he was grateful for it. "Just…before…I always thought he was the best thing next to his stories and my dad. Looking back now…I can pinpoint the day—the _exact day_—they took him away to put that chip in his head…and I can remember when he came back… But, then, I was too hurt to realize anything had changed. I had lost my brother so completely, but I didn't even know until just before he died."

Kyp held himself very still.

"People just…never see things, do they?"

"No, they don't," he agreed, his thoughts turning dark. Hanging from its belt, the Sildar hung pressed almost comfortingly against his leg. Unconsciously, he dropped a hand to its hilt.

"Do you remember," she slowly asked, peering up at him, "back when you were still dead, when you told me everyone can achieve redemption?"

He refocused on her, scrutinizing her carefully before answering. "Yes."

"Do you really believe that?" Her voice was small.

He smirked self-deprecatingly. "I have to."

She studied him silently, then left without another word.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"I can't believe I'm willingly going back to that place," Veras muttered. Outside her and Braun's bedroom, the ship was silent. The _Prize_'s passengers were mostly in Hapes' night cycle, but Veras and Braun were more used to Coruscanti time. Still, even they were ready for sleep at this hour, and Braun was already in bed, while Veras was getting ready.

"You were there just a month ago," Braun pointed out affably.

"For one day, and I spent that whole time locked up in here. We don't even know how long this 'mission' of Sanar's will take!"

Her husband rolled onto his back. "Are you saying you don't want to do this?"

"Well, of course I do," she snapped.

Privately, Braun wondered at the hatred and loyalty NLY inspired in its women. "Then we'll get through this."

"But will we?" Veras asked, perching on his side of the bed. "We're overthrowing a government, Braun! Not to be melodramatic, or anything, but what if…"

He moved almost surprisingly quickly to pull her close. "We're going to make it, Ver. I didn't put up with you for seven years just to lose you to some cultist fanatic."

"Seven years," she muttered, pulling out of his arms to finish brushing her hair. "_Seven years_." Shaking her head in disbelief, she discarded her robe and slipped under the thick covers.

"What?" he asked, looking slightly amused.

She shook her head again. "It just doesn't seem…real. Seven years, Braun. This is one helluva long dream."

He couldn't stop the warm grin that spread across his face, despite his usually stoic presentation. "This isn't a dream, love."

"Then where's the nightmare?" she asked wryly. "There's always one waiting."

He clicked the lights off and again pulled her close. "No more nightmares."

Veras smiled and kissed him briefly. "I love you." Snuggling deeper into his arms, she whispered, "See you in the morning?"

"In the morning."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	78. Ch11: Kinship

**Chapter Eleven: Kinship**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_I'm surprised that you've never been told before  
That you're lovely  
And you're perfect  
And that somebody wants you  
I'm surprised that you've never been told before  
That you're priceless  
Yeah, you're precious  
Even when you are not new_  
- "F.N.T." by Semisonic

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"You bored of tests yet?"

Nichyn swiftly looked up at Lera and jolted, though he had heard her entrance several moments ago. By instinct, he dropped the paper behind him and hid it. A second later, he shook his head. Ten days after his insertion into the Rym family, he still couldn't get used to the concept that he didn't need to watch his every move.

"You knocked something over," Lera offered gently, stepping further into his room.

"I—yes, I am aware of that," he said, looking down at the pieces of flimsi.

The girl looked as if she wanted to ask what it was, but she reigned in her curiosity. "Okay… Shanya said you were taking some aptitude tests?"

"Yes, I have completed the mathematics and…" He checked the exam title, "and the 'language arts' tests. Did Shanya send you with more?"

No matter what day it was, Lera spent at least some of her time with Shanya (or even just in the Rym house, if Shanya was working), despite her schoolwork. Zuleika had muttered something about Lera being a "smarty pants" who didn't require as much time to complete her tasks. Generally, Lera aided Shanya, or simply talked with her about anything under the stars. Nichyn kept his wonder about her easy freedom to himself.

"No, I—I think you've done them all," Lera answered. "Shanya's sending them off in a few minutes…you said you were done, right?" At his nod, she smiled a little bashfully. "Then—well, then, come on down; it's too early to be doing tests anyway."

"What are you and Shanya doing today?" he asked politely while he picked up his tests and followed her downstairs. Timmis and Shanya had recently given him a talk about proper etiquette towards girls. Although not nearly as prejudiced as Hapan nobility, the adults had informed him, Gallinore was a matriarchy. And he needed to reverse some of his assumptions very quickly.

Nichyn hadn't even known the definition of "matriarchy"; Na'Lein had no translation that he knew of.

"Shanya's going to work soon, actually. I—I was wondering if, um, if you wanted to go out for th-the day," Lera stuttered, pausing on the stairs. "I—I mean, we don't have to, b-but I thought—maybe—y-you'd like to see th-the city."

She hadn't seemed this uncomfortable around him since the first day. He quickly tried to reassure her—Nichyn liked seeing her self-assurance. "As long as it isn't any trouble," he replied, smiling faintly. "Crala seems quite a large city."

"Oh, it isn't," she said. "It's only a town, really. Mul'iq—the next city—is much bigger. A-and it's no problem." Shy, she looked away and took another step down.

"If you're sure you want to… child-sit… me for a day," Nichyn tried the phrase, "then I would most appreciate it."

"Baby-sit," Lera corrected automatically.

"Of course," he replied, embarrassed. Glancing at Lera, however, he realized she had barely noticed the mistake she'd corrected. "What does sitting on babies have to do with that expression?"

"Oh." She grinned. "I have no idea why it's 'sit.' But a baby-sitter is just someone who watches children…or hatchlings, or whatever."

He frowned. "I see."

His age-mate swallowed uncomfortably; did she think he was upset with her? "I-It's just one of those sayings, I guess."

Nichyn noticed her returning stutter, and switched away from their topic. "Will Shanya…fly…us into town?"

"No," Lera dismissed. She began descending the stairs at a normal pace once again. "She's taking the speeder in the other direction. We'll take the public transport—you can use Arelyk's TransPass."

"Thank you," he said. Was a TransPass a form of identification? If so, using it couldn't be worth the risk of being stopped by a rule enforcer, with an obvious lie sewn into Nichyn's coat. "Are you certain it's safe?" he asked uncertainly.

She gave him a blank look. "Why wouldn't it be? Shanya's paid for it."

"I'm not Arelyk," he reminded her.

She eyed him steadily for a moment before saying, "Considering I grew up right next door to Arelyk, and he's my best friend, I think I'm totally aware that you aren't him."

"But, you want me to use his ID?"

"Of course I don't," she said, looking even more perplexed. "Besides, you'll have your own once you start school. Why would I give you Arelyk's?"

"Then what is a 'TransPass'?"

"Oh. It-it isn't ph-photo ID. It's just a fare card. Even I could use it, i-if I lost mine."

"You're sure?" he asked, beginning to feel rather foolish.

"Positive." She smiled timidly and blushed a little.

"How long are you planning on going?" Shanya's voice called suddenly. Not long after, the woman herself came around the corner. Although Shanya had obviously—and silently—been listening to the conversation, Lera didn't jump.

"I don't know," the girl said thoughtfully. "It depends on what Nichyn wants to see."

"Nothing too far downtown, I hope?"

Lera rolled her eyes playfully. "No, not on the one-block-wide strip that constitutes as 'downtown' in this slow-poke town."

"You sound like your grandmother when you say that, dear." Shanya ruffled Lera's ash-blond hair playfully. "Well, why don't you do some shopping with Nichyn while you're out—"

"Shopping?" Lera made a face.

"He only needs a few things—Timmis bought most of his clothes, but there are some missing basics…"

"We can check out the mall, I guess." Lera shot Nichyn a look. "Fair warning: I really hate shopping, so this will be very quick."

Was there a specific reason she didn't enjoy shopping? And if there was, should he prepare for them? Nichyn regretted that Shanya had confiscated his knife—he would feel safer if he knew he could protect himself and others. Not that he couldn't fight without his dagger—far from it—but the warning glint of his blade had deterred attackers before.

Veras had told Nichyn he wouldn't need a weapon. Even after ten days on Gallinore, he could scarcely count it. As a woman, Veras could not afford to be complacent with her safety, but—security, without fighting for it? He had never seen it, and he could not trust the idea with ease.

Shanya had disappeared to the kitchen, and now returned with a tough-hide pouch in hand. Although Nichyn had picked up on Basic relatively quickly, his lack of concentration made Shanya and Lera's conversation foreign. Towards the end, however, the two women glanced at him, and Lera nodded. He wondered if Shanya was warning the girl that he might be dangerous. His foster mother had reacted strangely when she found his knife…

Moments later, he grabbed his jacket and followed Lera to her own home. "I just have to pick up some stuff, and we'll be on our way," she explained apologetically.

_And ask your father for permission to leave, right? Or—or your mother, if Timmis was serious about that matriarchy thing?_

She ran up the stairs to her room before he had time to ask. When she returned with a small bag in hand, Lera smiled and beckoned for him to follow her back out the door. "Come on; the next trans comes in seven minutes."

"Uh, Lera?"

She stopped. "Yes?"

"Shouldn't you tell your—"_your father_ "—your parents that you are going out?"

Lera stared at him blankly for a moment before shrugging. "Mo-o-o-o-om?" she yelled around a corner. "I'm going out!"

"Don't forget to bring your com-link," a strange voice replied, faintly and after a pause. Lera's mother sounded surprised that she had been informed of such a thing.

"I got it!" Turning back to Nichyn, Lera shrugged again. "Ready to go?"

He nodded slowly. "Yes."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"So what's your planet like?" Lera asked, a few hours later.

_Stormy. Wild. Powerful and terrible_. Nichyn took a spoonful of his "choco-car slide" sludge—a sweet mixture Lera called "ice cream"—and swallowed it. "Not at all like yours," he finally answered.

She laughed quietly. "Even _I_ figured _that_ out."

Nichyn shrugged uneasily. Lera had been nothing but—shyly—friendly and kind thus far, but he still couldn't grasp the freedom with which she had the others spoke. "It is much…harsher on Na'Lein'yhpaon. The storms are very dangerous, and the wind is cold. It's not like Gallinore." He glanced up at the two yellow-white suns.

She grinned. "We have rainstorms here, sometimes. I love them. But they aren't dangerous at all, unless your species can't stand water."

"It is much warmer here," he continued. "That I've seen so far, at least. Except for our summers."

"Nichyn, don't cross the street yet—you'll get run over by a speeder." After she had pulled him back, she said, "What about the people? Your culture? Your government?"

"How little do you know of me?" he asked, surprised that the Ryms wouldn't warn her of his planet's doctrines, and the possible danger he presented.

"I know you were sent away from your home because it wasn't safe, and that you miss your family. I know you're scared of a lot of stuff, including yourself; and you don't trust other guys." She paused to lick some ice cream off her spoon. "Also, I _think_ you're a good person. I mean, you're trying, and I've never heard you complain—which is unusual, given the circumstances."

It was the most he had heard her say—without stuttering—in some time, and Nichyn stared at her.

"And," she added, blushing, "you look at me like you know everything I'm thinking. Which makes me all…blush-y." The colour in her cheeks darkened as she gestured to her face.

"You might be wrong," he said flatly, staring straight ahead.

"About?"

"Me. How do you know I'm not the worst person you'll ever meet? You don't," he finished before she could reply.

"I think I do."

_You're so naïve_, he thought, but he didn't say it. He didn't want her to try to prove him wrong.

"I'd rather be wrong than treat your horribly for no reason, Nichyn."

_Well, then, if you won't protect yourself, I'll do it for you._ The decision soothed him a little.

Maybe if this fantasy world, where women ruled in safety, and men were given the benefit of the doubt…maybe if this way of life was true…maybe he would not see another innocent girl broken.

And even if there was a flaw, maybe he could shield her from the worst of it.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_He was useless._ Worse _than useless. How long had he been drifting, now? Years, in living time. An eternity, in the time of a brother's heart. He had seen the beginning of Sanar's happiness, and that warmed him, but he saw, too, how Prophecy further ensnared her._

_Prophecy and the Sildar kept him from reaching Sanar, or anyone close to her. Even Jaina Solo, as sensitive to the dead as Devnos had foreseen, was barred from him. His father had told him it was impossible to stop Prophecy; four years later, Devnos was beginning to believe Jarran. Maybe—_

No. _Sanar was his sister, and he had betrayed and scarred her far too deeply to give up now. Her fate_ could _be altered, somehow, and Devnos would discover the flaw in Prophecy's security no matter what it took._

_He needed to think carefully over every factor. Direct communication was not possible, nor was obvious meddling. So how…?_

_Someone familiar-but not-caught his attention, and he reluctantly—curiously—moved to that part of the universe. The more he concentrated, the more he was surprised. The boy resembled Devnos in looks, and the man recognized him as Nichyn, Clayra's son. But where was the boy? Some lush, civilized location—certainly not NLY. Clayra had been so…clingingly protective of the boy, though. Where was she? Devnos hardly dared hope that his youngest sister had escaped their native planet; Gantik had pulled Clayra into the thick of Mujir's Resistance. The cause was worthy, but Devnos' family had suffered, and would continue to suffer, more than enough. Needless to say, Gantik Whilem was not Devnos' favourite person. Nor had he been even before the man mucked up his role as Clayra's protector—but that was because of another sister, and an even more blatant crime._

_As he watched, Nichyn waved goodbye to a young girl about his age. She grinned and waved back before walking into her own yard. Her hair, unhindered by a scarf, danced in the soft wind._

_There was absolutely no way Nichyn was on Na'Lein'yhpaon._

_Even more curious now, Devnos followed his nephew into a house. A human woman—a Jedi, if Devnos' senses did not deceive him—welcomed the boy warmly, though a hint of reservation could be found in her eyes. A foster mother, perhaps? Nichyn spoke with her briefly, his Basic carefully thought out to avoid mistakes. Devnos wondered if the boy's words had embarrassed him yet. Devnos could clearly remember the first time he had gone into an outside world bar, and had accidentally insulted the wrong being…_

_He grimaced at the memory._ Stay out of the bars, kid.

_When Nichyn finally made his way up to—what Devnos assumed to be—his room, Devnos was mildly surprised to see Nichyn's window had a view of a girl's room. The curtains were open._

I have a Peeping Tom for a nephew? _he wondered. It certainly wasn't the worst crime a Klis descendent had committed, but…_ Oh, really, Nichyn. Just make a move already.

_But Nichyn only paused by the window for a moment, to open it and look across the way quickly, as if he was checking in on someone._

Not a Peeping Tom, then. _When_ _the homely girl from before entered the room Nichyn kept an eye out for, Devnos snorted._ Just an overprotective friend.

_But, despite the fact that he had just been given a chance to see evidence of Nichyn's new life, something about the boy's friend tugged. The feeling only increased when she pulled out a large datapad and began writing. It almost felt like…_

_Kinship?_

_A long, long time ago, Devnos had been a writer. Prophecy and the Force had corrupted that love, but even dead he could sometimes feel the temperamental spark that created stories. It hadn't been completely drained out of him, not even when he had turned to the Dark side in search of some degree of control over his life._

_Scarcely aware of what he was doing, Devnos moved through Nichyn's window to perch on the girl's window sill. When he sent out just a tendril of inquiry, the Force supplied him with her first-layer thoughts. Amidst the typical, busy chaos of the mind, Devnos caught the basics: a female survivor was in peril, but the hero-saves-the-heroine situation was so…contrived and "GFFA." (_Ah…the Hapes Consortium, _Devnos realized_. Talk about a crash course for Nichyn…_)_

_But the situation was far too difficult for even a tough street rat to survive on her own._

What about friends? _Devnos wondered.  
_  
Saja doesn't have any real friends. And she tends to disgust—or be pitied by—other women.

_Devnos startled at the quick response. Since no one heard him anyway, he had taken to thinking loudly, and sometimes out loud. Scanning the girl's aura, he found no unusual amount of Force potential. While every living being had some amount, only a collective few could put it to use, and this girl was not one of them. Her neighbour was a Jedi; perhaps some base layer of the child instinctively recognized and reacted to a Force-gifted presence…?_

_Devnos pushed his new puzzle aside for later and pondered the young writer's problem. Safety in the form of a male was out of the question, and friends out of the character's personality. Yet, there couldn't be just a random rescue…_

_A saving and unexpected—but disastrous, to Devnos' eyes—friendship came to mind. Maybe Jaina and Sanar's "friendship" (for lack of better word) would work out better in this girl's story than it had in his. _

What about an "irritating" heroine and future friend? _Devnos suggested, very quietly._

_The girl responded immediately, scribbling faster and faster as she got into the scene, and envisioned the new character._

_Devnos watched for several minutes before drifting away, a happy smile on his face. It felt good to help, unhindered…_

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	79. Ch12: Don't Forget Your Safety Net

I originally had this chapter split up when I was posting it on the JCF, because it's so long, but I decided to just rejoin the parts for ff.n—you might be able to tell where it split :P

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

**Chapter Twelve: Don't Forget Your Safety Net**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"We'll be breaching the atmosphere soon," Braun's voice said over the lounge speakers. "Strap in well," he added a half-second later, right after Sanar had scrambled for her crash webbing.

"He means it," Sanar growled at anyone who had been too slow to buckle up. "NLY's atmosphere is as hard as rock at the best of times."

Krista looked up from her spot by the holo-com. She had been reassuring her unhappy brothers (who hadn't known until now what their baby sister was getting herself into; it was easier to ask forgiveness than permission, after all). "Just a minute; I have to finish my call…"

Miko, having caught the seriousness on Sanar's face, crossed the room quickly. "She'll have to call you back later," he told the blonde girl's brothers. "Don't worry; I won't let her do anything stupid." Before Gryq, Cel, or Bull could argue, Miko deactivated the holo-station. "Minute's up, Kris; better get into your webbing."

She stared at him, gape-mouthed. "You—you hung up on my brothers! Do you have any idea what they'll—"

"They'll get over it," he interrupted brusquely. "In any case, your life is a little more important than what they want. Now get into you webbing, Krista."

She complied, albeit slowly. "You are so dead," she said in an awed whisper.

"I'll worry about that later," he replied more moderately now that she was safe.

"If you're done showing off, Miko, how about _you_ get strapped in?" Tiran suggested, smirking.

Miko rolled his eyes. "Cerasy, can't you keep your lesser half in check?"

The currently black-haired bounty hunter grinned. "Did he say something?"

Sanar snorted while muttering something cynical under her breath.

The first hard jolt of their ship's descent kept either Miko or Cerasy from speaking further. "Hold on," Sanar told them, looking tense. This time, even Krista listened to her.

The atmosphere continued battering the _Prize_ with increasing intensity as time passed. After ten minutes, the ship was shuddering consistently and so hard that Miko could taste his own blood from where he had bit his tongue.

"Is it usually this bad?" the blonde at his side cried. Somewhat nervous himself, Miko grabbed her head reassuringly.

"I can't—remember, but—nothing about this—Sith-spawned planet—is friendly," Sanar answered as best she could through the heavy tremors.

"We've hit a storm," Veras called from the cockpit. "Forget landing outside Quatroc. We're landing wherever we can. Brace yourselves!"

Miko glanced across at Krista. Her face was expressionless, but her blue eyes wide. His heart clenched, and he took her hand. _It will be okay_, he mouthed. She gave him a short, tense smile.

"I cannot _believe_ how much I hate this lafit planet!" Sanar spat, gripping her seat's arm rests. "Why am I so eager to save it, again?"

"Because it's the right thing to do," Kyp replied calmly. "And the part you hate is the part we're going to fight."

Sanar gaped at him. "So I'm about to die because I'm on a heroic mission of mercy? Hell, no! Braun, turn this ship around right now!"

Their pilot didn't even bother to reply. When the _Prize_'s holochess board flew up and smacked the ceiling, everyone's tongue was silenced. More objects were yanked from their moorings, and a flying music box knocked Tiran out. Miko flinched as a cupboard—probably an "antique" to Krista's mind, and one not well-attached to the ship—narrowly Krista. Or so he thought, until he heard her gasp. He tried to lean forward to see where she had been hit, but the ship's momentum pinned him to his seat.

"Get a shield up!" Sanar's voice clamoured to be heard over the cacophony. Miko would have bet a senator's yearly salary that Kyp would have heard her even if she hadn't yelled. "Now, Durron!"

The _Prize_ must have clipped something, because it suddenly spiralled. The normal lights disappeared before being replaced by the green emergency lights.

"Kyp, get some sort of—"

In the panicked, dim lighting, Miko couldn't tell what happened to Sanar to silence her then. From the woman herself he felt only stunned pain, then unconsciousness. Kyp Durron, however, flared brightly in panic, and his fear for Sanar speeded the creation of his shield. Noticing that it was spread just a little more strongly over Sanar than over the rest of them, Miko struggled to help his former master maintain the protective Force.

But a second later— "Everyone, _hold_—"

Everything went black.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

As soon as the _Prize_ had shuddered to a stop, Veras was scrambling out of her chair and pushing away the built-in emergency safety projection. Beside her, Braun was shifting, testing his limbs before standing. "I'm going to check on the others," she told him. Her throat was so tight that the words sounded nothing like her.

Her husband nodded. "I'll be along shortly."

She hesitated only another minute before carefully making her way through the wrecked cockpit. Braun had avoided a nosedive crash, which would have killed the two of them instantly, but the process had caused him to overcompensate. The back, left side of the _Prize_ had taken the most damage. Veras had deactivated the engines just before they crashed, lest they be caught in an electrical fire, but who knew if that had worked?

_I really, **really** hate this planet_.

She had to put all her weight into opening the dented lounge door, and when it finally gave she fell past the threshold. "Lafit." The manual glow-lights switch didn't work, and Veras pulled herself up gingerly. "Anyone awake?" Someone coughed, and she looked in their general direction. "Who's that?"

"Kriff, Yd. Please tell me your insurance company will get us out of here, on top of paying for this."

_Cerasy_. "I wouldn't count on it. Can you move?"

"Yeah, just—just let get me out of this webbing." There was a pause, riddled with the sound of the bounty hunter fiddling with her crash straps, then, "Hey, Durron, you can take that shield of yours down now."

"Save a girl one minute, and the next she'll tell you to stop without so much as a thank you. Really, Cerasy." Despite his sarcasm, Kyp's voice was tense.

"Thanks." Veras could just make out Cerasy's form as she stood and patted herself down quickly. "Don't suppose you have any kind of light?"

"Just a moment." Kyp groaned softly, then began unstrapping himself.

When Veras heard him hiss in pain, she asked, "What is it?"

"Too much Force output," he replied self-deprecatingly. "I put up a shield around us as fast as I could, but my body's protesting. I just have to walk…or crawl…it off.

"But light…where did I put my lightsaber… Ah, here." The violet glow of the Jedi weapon lit the room dimly. "_Sanar_."

Veras wasn't sure if she had heard Kyp say the woman's name or not, but a second later he was holding his lit blade over Sanar appraisingly, the worry obvious in his expression. _What the lafit?_ she thought. _Why is Kyp Durron all moony over Sanar?_

She was distracted from the scene by Braun's hand on her elbow. "I brought the emergency lights," he told her, his face upset. "One of them was smashed."

She gave him a sympathetic look. The _Prize_ was Braun's pride, joy, and home, but the wreck had done irreparable damage. They would have to buy a new ship, and start all over. "We'll make do," she told him with a soft smile. "We always do, you know?" She took one of the portable torches from him, and flicked it on briskly.

The lounge was a mess; objects had flown about far more successfully than the _Prize_. At the back, where Kyp was trying to wake and (Veras assumed) heal Sanar, the metal was twisted and torn. Veras had a headache just looking at the corridor to the sleeping chambers and engine room. She rubbed her neck, pushed away her weariness and crossed the lounge. Time to see what was salvageable.

At least Veras was good at that.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_My brothers are going to kill me_, was Krista's first thought upon consciousness. Fortunately, though, her brothers weren't there at the moment. So the blonde girl opened her eyes and looked around quietly. She had been in plenty of crashes before, and this wasn't the worst of them. Still, she winced when she saw Tiran's head injury. She hoped it wasn't as serious as it looked… Of course, if it had been, Cerasy would not be nearly so calm. Kyp wasn't in his seat, but Krista reflexively looked toward the back of the lounge to where she had last seen Sanar. Sure enough, Kyp was checking Jaina's sister, overly carefully, for any serious injury.

Krista turned away, wincing. Twisting her neck, even to the small degree she had, hurt like the hells. _Whiplash, maybe?_ Other than that, her left shoulder was bleeding around the shrapnel that had gotten her before Kyp had erected his shield. Her legs were sore; a sharp turn might have sprained a knee joint. But she had had worse, particularly in Imperial prison.

Careful to not jar her injured shoulder, the former Intelligence agent unbuckled her crash webbing relatively easily. Getting out of it was something else entirely. "Um, help?" she asked, looking around and biting her lip. Cerasy, Braun, Veras, and Kyp were busy, though, and if they heard her, they didn't show it. Which reminded her, where was…

"That looks nasty. Other than your shoulder, how are you?"

Krista relaxed a little more as she looked up at Miko. "My neck's pretty sore, and I might have sprained my knee, but otherwise I'm fine. How are you?" Squinting in the moving light, she almost gasped. "Miko, your head—"

"I've already started healing it," he reassured her. "Don't even have a concussion anymore."

She frowned at the blood over his eyes, but since it _was_ already clotting, she let it go—for now. "Handy trick, that healing stuff."

Gently, he began pulling the webbing away from her bleeding shoulder. "I take it you didn't train long enough to learn some basic healing?"

"No, I—" She gasped as something pulled at her damaged skin. _Just don't think about it_. "You know me. I never stick around long. My brothers tried to get me to learn, but with the war…people were too busy to train me."

"This metal really can't be in your shoulder much longer," Miko said, not bothering to coddle her. When her eyes widened, he shook his head. "It can wait until we're outside, with some decent light. But I can't speed your healing until it's gone."

"And, of course, no painkillers," Krista finished. She tightened her jaw in preparation. "Alright, then, get me out of this chair."

It hurt more sharply than she had expected, and when they pulled her arm out quickly, a cry escaped her. Seconds later, she cursed weakly. "Well." She released a heavy, shuddering breath. "G-Good thing I—I didn't pack any tanktops, h-huh?" She giggled, too loudly. "I'd n-never get away with it, w-with this arm. Um, got any alcohol?"

"Alright, time to go outside."

"Kriff," she almost whimpered. "Seriously, you got _anything_?"

"Sorry. I prefer sobriety."

"Oh, right. Kriff."

She could limp on her hurt knee, and Miko supported her as well as he could. Together, they hobbled out of the slanted, wrecked ship into the morning desert. "How much you wanna bet," Krista said as they stumbled down to the warm sand, "that this wouldn't have happened if Jay and Zekk were here?"

"Even heroes get bad luck sometimes, Kris. Just look at Han and Jaina—if they aren't in trouble, they get bored and start picking fights with anything that moves."

"Oh, like getting enslaved to a Sith Lord, and not seriously trying to escape? If that happened to me, I'd be tortured to death." She refused to think about how normal Imperials had treated her. "But Jaina? Look how she came out: with the love of her life, her freedom, and a nearly-dead Emperor out of the way."

"She also died," Miko pointed out.

Shifting his hold on her, he said, "Lie down here, and I'll get started on that arm."

Krista looked like she was seriously considering pulling away from him, like a pouting child from her nurse, but she acquiesced reluctantly. "For dying for three seconds, she got even more interesting, and found her…her platonic, weird-relationship soul mate. Literally.

"Ow!" She did pull away this time, and sulked petulantly. "It hurts, okay? Stop _poking_ it."

"I'm trying to help," he snapped. His nerves were already on edge from their close call, and dealing with Krista's shoulder wasn't helping. "Sorry if I'm trying to avoid just ripping shrapnel out of your shoulder, and razing your nerves!"

"Don't be such a baby, Miko. _I_'m the one who has to live with passing out, and I've done so in worse circumstances. On my own. Now, is it just one big piece?"

"I think so, but—"

"Then just yank it."

"Kris, parts of it could get left behind and—"

"I don't like metal in me, but it was too late for that even before this crash. I _really_ don't like big chunks of metal being left in my shoulder, and me with no painkillers or alcohol. Just. Pull. It. Out. No—_oww_…" Tears sprung when she got over the immediate shock of Miko's sudden compliance, and Krista swallowed thickly, her face blanching. "All right," she whispered tremulously. "Now…would be a good time…to uncover y-your secret stash of—of alcohol."

"Sorry." He smoothed his hand along her face gently, offering what comfort he could. "I just have this." He used the Force to encourage her shoulder to knit itself together again. Concentrating on ridding her of pain, he nearly forgot to check for any remaining metal shards. "I think that's it," he told her. He ran his hand along her spine as she trembled past the worst of the pain.

"You're going to be okay."

She tightened her jaw in what he assumed was her attempt to smile. "Been through worse," she muttered, grimacing.

He flinched. "So you said. I'd…rather hoped you hadn't."

"Imperial prison. Torture. Fool's hope—mean anything—to you?"

"I know; I'm sorry."

She fought with her breath and the pain for several minutes before she spoke again. "Did they—did they get you?"

Any other time he would have played dumb, but she could barely gather herself to talk, let alone repeat herself. "Almost did, a couple of times, but what's life without a few close calls?"

"Sorry," she whispered, biting her lip viciously.

He blinked, taken aback. "What do you mean? What for?"

"I—I might have—Jaina says I didn't tell them anything, but—but I think I might have told them…"

"You don't believe it was _your_ fault that the Imperials found out about me, do you?" When she only looked at him miserably, he cursed in disbelief. "Kris—" He brought her face level with his. "It was _not_ your fault, okay?"

Her eyes became glassy. "But they started looking for you right after—after they released me, and I'm one of the few people who knew, and I didn't recognize anyone in the prison."

"Were you ever out of your cell?" he asked gently.

"Yes," she replied, a little defiantly. "Well," she amended at his look, "sometimes."

He chuckled a little, and shook his head before saying, "No one spilled on my betrayal except me, Kris. I made a last, big move on my own, knowing the consequences. _My_ actions brought attention to me. It was only a matter of time until they found out, and I prioritized."

"I just can't…help but think I did or said…something…"

She had made him fall in love with her, true enough. But that was hardly her fault, and certainly wasn't what she was worried about. "You didn't say anything about my role in the Rebellion." When she still looked doubtful, he added, "I know you didn't. I saw the interrogation recordings." He grimaced at the memories; he could still hear her cries, and see the dead look in her eyes.

Krista blinked at him fuzzily. "What do you— Why'd they show them to you?"

"I ended up in that area. Thought I'd check on the prison," he replied vaguely.

"Oh," she breathed. At first he thought she had connected his presence with her release, but Krista only closed her eyes in weariness. The talk about her imprisonment, on top of her current injuries, couldn't have been recovery-friendly, or intellectually encouraging.

"Did you get hit in the head at all?" he asked. He didn't sense a concussion, but he might have missed it in staving off his own head trauma.

"Nah, just got yanked around like a ball on elasti-string. Promise not to tell my brothers?"

He grinned. "Do you know how to set up a healing trance?" When she shook her head, he said, "I'll lead you through it, then."

Ten minutes later, Krista lay back on the black sand, completely given over to the trance and her body's recuperation. Only then did he relax, and let his façade of friendly concern fade. Stars, that had been far too close. If he could go the rest of his life without seeing Krista come so close to harm, and realize she had been badly hurt in the process, it would be too late. He felt like he had aged a decade. Sighing, he kissed her forehead, and stood. Her healing was well on its way, now, and he had to believe that eventually his fear would quiet into the background.

Searching for distraction, he looked around at their surroundings. There wasn't much to see. To the left were mountains, and at their base some trees, but everywhere else was black sand. _Here's hoping the sun doesn't cook us while we're on this stuff_. The weather was bearable at the moment, but it looked to be the morning, with the sun at a low point.

Miko assumed that Braun and Veras were still somewhere in the ship, perhaps salvaging what they could, because they were the only two he couldn't see on the sand. Cerasy and Tiran were attending each others' various wounds twenty metres from Miko and Krista, but the newlyweds did not seem injured beyond their healing abilities. Next he concentrated on Kyp and Sanar. Miko's former master was crouched over his beloved, whom he had lain out on a blanket.

"Kyp," Miko called. The Kavishka looked up only briefly before returning his anxious gaze to Sanar.

Miko reassured himself that Krista was safe, then walked over to the dark-haired Jedi Master. "How is she?" he asked, nodding at Sanar.

"She'll be fine," Kyp said tightly.

The Force whispered secrets in Miko's mind, intangible, uncatchable. "She will. What happened?"

"I'm not sure. It looks like her head banged against the headrest, but she should have come to by now."

"Well, I _really_ doubt Sanar's going to die from something as senseless as a ship crash," Miko offered. "Besides, even if everything they say about this planet is true, I figure Sanar can hold her own against this place for a while longer."

"I promised Jaina I wouldn't let anything happen to Sanar."

"Sanar isn't likely to find someone who keeps her safer than you."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_Sanar grinned as she walked into her lover's arms. "Am I dead?" she asked curiously. The idea didn't bother her much; through Jaina, she knew what death would be like. Besides, her beloved was here, wasn't he? What could possibly be wrong when he was there?_

_Her lover laughed in surprise as he trailed his fingers down her hair. "Of course not. Where did you get that idea?"_

_Sanar smirked, just a little. "Well, the last thing I remember from awake-world is Braun's ship being this close to crashing."_

_"Oh, the ship crashed alright, but you all survived." He grinned slowly, and an answering shiver danced along her spine._

_She leaned into him, smiling when he kissed the top of her head. "Well, not that it isn't_ wonderful _to see you, my love, but what am I doing, sleeping, when I just survived a crash?"_

_He started to reply, but was cut off._

_"You move too quickly, attack ahead of yourself, once-seer."_

_It was millions of voices—more—all of them speaking at once, drowning out all else. Some she almost thought she recognized; the idea was dragged from her. Confused, she looked up at her lover, but he nudged her into turning around completely. He looked slightly bitter._

_"Who are you?" she demanded. "And what the lafit are you doing in my dream?"_

_"We are Women," they hissed. "We are_ Vengeance_."_

_"Uh…huh," Sanar replied, raising her eyebrow. "Well, good for you. You can get out of my dream now."_

_"That which you call the Force has many sides," the voices continued. "We are a part of one."_

The nut job part? 

_Millions of faces glared at her, and Sanar realized that—as part of the Force—they might have heard that last thought._ Whoops_. "Whatever. Why are you in_ my _dream?"_

_"For 776 years, we and our sisters have been cut down, abused, degraded—"_

_"You know, having grown up on NLY, I really don't need this explained."_

_"But now our time has come. The Kavishka walks to meet his destiny; and you follow, as you must, and always will."_

_Sanar snorted. "Yeah. Right. Hate to burst your bubble, but as soon as Durron completes the prophecy, I am so leaving. And I will_ never _follow Durron."_

_"It is your destiny!" the voices boomed, and Sanar took a step back, despite herself._

_"You wait for three sevens to attack," they resumed. "Only on their 'holy' anniversary can you destroy Pucijir and his emperor. Consider this crash a warning against attacking prematurely. We will not wait seven thousand years because you made a mess of things."_

_"You set up our ship crash?" Sanar shrieked. "Oh, I think you can definitely wait seven thousand years, just for that!"_

_"Already we have set into motion your reward," the voices snapped._

_"Oh, goody, so I'm gonna get a gold star?" Sanar's voice had been lathered with sarcasm, and she hoped they drowned in the excess._

_"You have the role you coveted in the messenger's 'story.' You will have your lover…. All this, we have assured. But these things are only for your success. To take them away would be…tragic, if necessary upon your failure."_

_"Are you_ threatening _me? Oh, you are unbelievable! I'm not your little toy; you can't just move me around how you want me. You need me, and I'm gonna do things_ my _way."_

_The women's hard expressions did not waver at her declaration. "Remember: you must not strike out at the emperor himself until the seven hundred seventy-seventh year exactly. Vengeance is strongest on the birth day of Pucijir's Order."_

_"I'll think about it," Sanar growled. "Maybe."_

_"Remember how you have been blessed." With their last, stern command, the faces and voices disappeared_.

_"Well, they were rude," Sanar remarked, turning back to her beloved with a scowl on her face._

_He snorted. "They are Vengeance. I thought they'd have come to you by now."_

_"They haven't, and I'm not going to put out a welcome mat."_

_Smiling coyly, she stepped closer to her lover and slipped her arms around his waist. "But I'd much rather forget them, now."_

_"Sanar…"_

_She kissed him, gently, longingly. "When will you come for me?" she murmured, her lips brushing his as she spoke._

_"Soon. Very soon." He smiled faintly. "You could almost say I'm…already there."_

_She leaned back to consider him. "Knowing my luck, the_ Prize _crashed in the middle of nowhere—and that would mean you're…where, exactly?"_

_He grinned mischievously._

_She huffed in annoyance. "The only guys around are Tiran, Miko, Braun and Durron, for Sith's sake! So, unless you're already married, or in love with someone else, I'm not seeing how—"_

_He chuckled, his eyes dancing. "Maybe you just don't recognize me, love."_

_"Of course I—" She paused, and squinted at him. Well, she couldn't really see and remember his face—that was true. And, although his voice was the only one that could always comfort her, the exact tones never stayed with her. Tall, short, beefy, thin, handsome, ugly… Sanar could not label him any of these things. All she could see was his heart and soul._

_"After all," he continued, "you mixed me up with Lord Onyx for a while."_

_"Oh, Larifx. I don't even know_ why_," she said in exasperation. "But at least it got me off of— Wait, you weren't on Na'Lein'yhpaon this whole time, were you?" she asked suddenly. Her eyes were wide._

_"No, hardly. You needed to meet Jaina. Though…I have to admit…I didn't expect the two of you to get so close."_

_"We aren't_ that _close," Sanar grumbled. Because she hated lying to him, however, she added, "Well, I didn't see it coming, either."_

_"I'm glad for you."_

_"So you've said more than once. You like her, don't you?"_

_He smirked, but only said, "She's a good person, and she's helped you every time I couldn't. What's not to like?"_

_"I…I kind of miss her," Sanar confessed. "I didn't expect to, but I do. I keep wondering if she's almost gotten herself killed again."_

_"It's only been two weeks."_

_"My point exactly. Do you know what she's done, before, in two weeks?"_

_"I might know of a few scrapes she's gotten herself into," he conceded. "But Jaina usually lands on her feet."_

_"Not always."_

_"You worry so much about your loved ones," he said. He touched her cheek, first with his fingers, then with his lips. "Worry a little more about yourself."_

_She scoffed. "Me? I'm fine. And even if I wasn't, I've survived this long, haven't I?"_

_"But I want you to thrive, love. Will you do that for me?"_

_"If you wanted me to, I could fly."_

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

It was extremely rare that Kyp saw Sanar so peaceful. Rarer still did she smile at him. Yet, when he woke her, he was gifted with both occasions. "Welcome back to the land of the living."

Her smile faded slowly as she seemed to realize who, exactly, she was looking at. "What happened?" she asked. She sat up slowly.

"Your head slammed against the headrest during the crash," he said, trying to keep the concern out of his voice. "You've been out for nearly twenty hours."

"Blasted, nosy, controlling voices," she muttered peevishly.

"What?"

She looked at him briefly before irritably saying, "Never mind. How is everyone?"

"Braun managed to pull the ship up, so mostly it's only a little more serious than bumps and bruises. Part of the ship got in Krista's shoulder, but Miko's taking care of her." Having finished his brief summary, he bit the inside of his cheek. "But how are _you_ feeling? I didn't expect you to be out so long."

She smirked, and her attention was diverted from him. "I'm great. I don't suppose our group has, uh, grown?" she inquired, hardly daring to hope.

Durron shook his head. "No, we haven't seen anything or anyone. We'll be heading out soon, if you're strong enough to walk."

Her foolish hopes dashed, Sanar stood abruptly. She was far too anxious to find her beloved to lie around any longer. "Well, then, let's go."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"Judging by the black sand, and dryness, I'd guess we're somewhere in the Plasa region," Braun told his audience. "What do you think, Ver?" The dark-haired woman scanned the landscape moodily before nodding.

"How far do you think we are from Quatroc?" Tiran asked.

"Not far enough," Veras muttered.

Braun squeezed his wife's hand reassuringly. "Hard to say," he answered. "It depends which mountains those are over there, and how far north we are."

"If you catch her in a good mood, ask Sanar," Veras suggested. "I think she grew up close to the desert/mountain region. I always lived in Quatroc."

"So, what is Na'Lein'ipaynee like?"

Veras shot Tiran a withering look. "It's Na'Lein'_yhpaon_. If you want, just call it NLY. And you actually came here knowing nothing about the planet? Cerasy, your husband's IQ is noticeably lower than yours."

"Oh, hush, woman," Tiran mocked, making a face. "Isn't this planet all…men-are-superior?"

"Tir!" Cerasy admonished. She scowled at him properly for perhaps the first time in Veras' presence.

"I'm just teasing," he defended. "If I had made a joke about Dathomir, you would have laughed."

"Emperor Rafintair, as all those before him, orders the massacre of thousands of innocent women on a whim," Veras all but snarled at Tiran. "Priests and even some normal men rape and abuse, if they aren't reminding us that our only use is to bear the sons of which we are so unworthy. A decent man, who respects his wife and daughters as well as he can within the Order, is rare. Loving relationships between a man and a woman, no matter the connection or age, is sneered at and eventually punished. And you think the Pucijir indoctrinate is _amusing_?"

Tiran's face was pale with shame. "Veras, I didn't mean—I mean, I— My foot is permanently lodged in my mouth. I just—"

"I don't want to hear it," Veras snapped, her expression tight. "I don't even know why…" She shook her head angrily. "Why do we expect to change this place? We'll never see a difference." Defeated and frustrated, she stalked ahead.

Braun gave Tiran a look, then roughly shouldered past him to comfort his wife.

Cerasy, her face red with humiliated anger, watched as the older couple spoke. Their voices rose and fell before Veras slumped into her husband's arms.

"I can't believe you," Cerasy said, scowling at her own husband.

"Neither can I. I never meant… Me and my big, ignorant mouth," Tiran muttered.

"You really need to learn to put it to better use," she agreed testily.

"Like?" he said miserably.

Seeing how upset he was, the bounty hunter softened. "Look, next time you start to say something, just…kiss me instead, alright?" She winked at him. "You can't get in trouble that way."

"Remember what Veras said about loving relationships?" he pointed out.

Cerasy groaned. "Then maybe just don't talk."

He smirked, pushing away the dark cloud that hovered over his thoughts. "Not even to tell you I love you? Well, alright, if you insist."

She rolled her eyes, and shoved him lightly. "If you ever stop, you'll swallow a blaster."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Krista and Miko were walking several paces behind the married couples, but paying close attention between their own conversation. Krista was still limping because of her knee and her shoulder hurt when she jostled it. Miko, however, had assured her that another healing trance would get rid of the remaining damage.

"Veras was really upset," Krista remarked to her walking companion. Out of habit, she spoke quietly so as not to be heard.

"I talked to her a bit before we arrived," Miko remarked. "Sanar isn't the only one who's been hurt by this planet, but Veras is even more anxious about it."

"Do you think it's worse than Dathomir? I mean, really? Because I haven't heard anything yet about the women being _hunted_ here, on top of everything else."

"On Dathomir, men are ambushed for their hand in marriage," Miko thought out loud. "But, while they _are_ considered inferiors, I don't believe the Dathomir women have reached this planet's level of cruelty. The men don't look…haunted…the way I've seen Sanar and Veras look."

"I guess we'll find out soon, anyway. Unless we die," Krista added, beginning to sound less serious. She didn't notice Miko's flinch. "But then, according to Jaina, we'll still be able to watch everything through the River, if we can remember to look."

"Well, I'd much rather be alive to see it, wouldn't you?" he asked pointedly.

"Of course," she agreed happily. "I'm over the whole…post-capture trauma. There are far too many heart attacks I wanna almost give my brothers. Plus, boys." She gave him a quick, wide-eyed look as she realized what she had said. "I mean, not boys. Not much, at least. Because I don't…talk about that—in front of you. Kriff."

"Kris, I've told you, I'm fine. If I could survive watching you flirt with every guy in a five kilometre radius for two years, I can survive hearing you mention 'boys.'"

"I just—can't you take it back?" she pleaded. "I mean, can't you stop liking me like that? It was way less awkward when we were just friends."

"We're still 'just' friends," he told her. "The only difference is that I've admitted I love you. It isn't a big deal to you unless you want it to be."

"Meaning?"

He grinned faintly. "Don't act like I need to spell it out for you."

She looked up at him, and wiped away some of the sweat on her face. "People leave, Miko," she finally said. She dropped her eyes in her moment of honesty. "And I'd rather leave than be left behind."

"You can't live like that forever, Krista."

"Yeah? Just watch me."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Ahead of the others, Sanar and the Kavishka were having a talk of their own as they navigated the black sand hills.

"This is all your fault," Sanar grumbled.

Kyp raised an eyebrow as he climbed up the sandy hill after her. "This walk in the desert, the crash, or just the galaxy's ills in general?"

"All of them," she snapped, scowling over her shoulder.

"Of course," he replied. Maybe he shouldn't have found Sanar's ire amusing, but Kyp really did. She no longer cursed or attempted to strike him, as she had when he'd first returned to life. Instead, her tantrums seemed more out of habit than real spite, and Kyp appreciated what he had. "Let me guess: I'm to blame for Pucijir's Order, too, aren't I?"

"You're the Kavishka," she told him frostily. "You should have _known_ that we were attacking too early."

"'Too early'?" he repeated in confusion.

"Yeah, and if you had said something, those weird voices wouldn't have gotten angry, and they wouldn't have made us crash, and we wouldn't be walking through the desert right now, and—"

"Wait," he interrupted. When she made a face at him over her shoulder, he grabbed her hand. "Stop a minute. What weird people?"

She freed her hand impatiently. "These…women, mostly," she explained with a roll of her eyes. "They kept saying they're 'Vengeance,' and stuff. I didn't like them. They got all threaten-y in my dream."

"Vengeance?" He frowned. "You mean the Sildar?"

"Don't know, don't care," she growled. "All I know is, they better stay out of my dreams when I get to see—" She clammed up abruptly, suddenly realizing what she had been about to reveal.

"See what?"

"Who," she corrected shortly. "And like I'm going to tell you."

He rolled his eyes. "You know, Sanar, we're going to be working together for a while. You could at least _try_ to be pleasant."

"You are far too irritating to be pleasant around," she snapped.

"Irritating?" he repeated, as if amazed. "Me?"

"Oh, shut up."

"Sanar, you wound me!" His grin broadened. "I, irritating?"

She stomped faster, nearly sliding back down the sand hill in the process, and shifted her heavy bag back over her shoulder. She grumbled something under her breath before demanding, "What day is it?"

He blinked. "Why?"

"Because I want to figure out how many more days I have to put up with you, that's why."

"It's the twenty-fifth day of the first Coruscanti month."

She was quiet for several minutes, and barely seemed to notice when he caught up with her on the drifts.

When her face suddenly fell, he asked, "So? What's the count?"

"Way too many."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Several hours later, the group stopped for the night. As Braun, Krista and Veras distributed the nutrient bars, the others took sips of their water. "How much more do we have?" Cerasy asked.

Braun measured the bag of food with his eyes. "Three more days' worth of food, if we're careful. A little less water."

"We should reach the mountains the day after tomorrow," Sanar said. Her expression was withdrawn as she fiddled with their glow-light.

"Do you know where we are?" Veras inquired cautiously. Sanar had rarely, if ever, spoken of her childhood home. Although Veras had been the closest thing Sanar had to a friend on Na'Lein'yhpaon, neither had liked to talk about Before Life Changed.

Sanar took a deep breath, and nodded. "Yeah. Those are the Apally mountains. When we reach them, we can get some fruit, and maybe some food from sympathizers… I don't know if anyone still lives there. Probably not. In any case, there will be wild berries and animals. We follow the river for three days, and then we go through Brin."

Veras' eyes widened, but Braun spoke first. "Brin?" he repeated. "I haven't heard of it. Are the people trustworthy?"

"They were, when they were alive," Sanar replied woodenly. "I was born there."

"Really?" Veras said eagerly. She shuffled over to sit next to her once-friend. "Mujir's birthplace was yours?"

Sanar laughed wryly. "Well, my dad created the first version of Mujir's Resistance," she admitted. "But it wasn't Mujir's birthplace, in legend or reality. What gods are born on their own planet, and not in the heavens?" She shook her head. "Brin is probably just a ghost town, now. I haven't been back since…Mujir, in at least two decades."

"Until now," the raven-haired woman at her side finished. She grinned. "I've always wanted to see it, the place Mujir's Resistance was created. I always thought it was just some legend. Were Rafintair's men really oblivious to what the town was becoming?"

"For a while," Sanar conceded, smiling a little. "We lasted at least twenty years of secrecy. By the time I was eleven, Daddy had all these cells organized, and contacts I didn't even know about until the soldiers came…" She shook her head. "No one under seventeen had any idea what the rest of Na'Lein'yhpaon was like. One day things were normal, and the next…

"You saw Gal's destruction, right?" she asked Veras. "It was like that, sort of, but in slow motion. People started disappearing, or leaving, or dying. The soldiers never stopped watching, and if our masks slipped for even a second…" Sanar pulled a finger across her throat, miming decapitation.

"You saw all this?" Kyp asked, horrified.

"Everyone did," Veras replied for Sanar. "I saw my first corpse when I was four—my aunt… They burned my parents before my eyes when I was nine, because my father loved my mother." She glared pointedly at Tiran.

"What can we expect?" Krista queried, unusually subdued. Unconsciously, she leaned into Miko. "When we get there, I mean."

"Shut up, keep your eyes down, get out of the way," Veras recited in clipped tones. "And it would not be overdone if you always looked as if you were about to bow."

"You have got to be kidding me."

"I'm not, and that's to be your role in the presence of any male, even a child. A 'business' man might try to take you and use you in his brothel, since you aren't travelling with a male family member… Unless you can kill him in absolute privacy, and unless no one saw you with him, you'd better find a way to communicate with one of our guys. Preferably Braun; he knows the customs.

"Krista, Miko, you'll need to keep your hair covered somehow. Most people on the main continent have very dark or very fair hair, and we want as little attention as possible.

"Cerasy and Krista…" Veras and Sanar shared a serious look before Veras continued. "We will need to have a very long talk about everything. I, personally, don't want to see any of us dead because some priest realized you aren't at all what you're pretending to be."

Cerasy nodded her acceptance, but Krista (_not to mention Miko and Tiran_, Veras thought wryly) swallowed hard. "What are our odds?" the blonde girl asked.

Veras snorted. "Krista, dear, if any of us make it off this planet alive, I would tell you to buy a lot of lottery tickets. There will be no question about your luck after this mission."

"Then we'll have to do that," Krista replied, seeming to get over her fear. "All of us. We're going to make it."

"Ha." Everyone turned to look at Sanar, who was slowly starting to chuckle. Moments later, they all watched in something like terrified fascination as she laughed so hard she cried. When she finally calmed down enough to stop, Krista shuddered.

"Krista," Sanar said plainly, "I know at least one person will never leave this planet alive."

And she looked at Miko, and smiled mirthlessly.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"You don't think she meant you, do you?" Krista asked him later that night. "Miko?"

He threw out his sleeping pallet and blanket, more as a way of avoiding Krista's eyes than out of a real desire to sleep. "I don't know, Kris."

"She just—she had this _look_," the blonde girl cried, wringing her hands. "Like Jaina, when she knows way too much about someone or something."

Sanar had definitely had a 'look', Miko thought with a swallow. He had to fight back shivers just thinking about it. She wouldn't talk about it; by the time everyone was packing in for sleep, she almost seemed to have forgotten about the incident over the campfire.

"Do you think she _Saw_ something?" Krista fretted.

Finally, he looked up at her, and saw the genuine fear in her eyes. "I don't know," he repeated, gently, touching her uninjured arm.

"She _can't_ have," Krista denied, stomping her foot and pulling away from him. "You're not going to die. I won't let you."

"Hey," he soothed. "Kris—"

"No," she snapped. "You aren't allowed to die, okay? That's just—just not good."

Kyp was watching them from a few metres away, and Miko could feel his former master's offer to help. He shook his head; he'd figure out how to calm Krista down on his own somehow.

"She's _wrong_," Krista muttered. "She had to mean someone else."

"Who?" he asked. "Kyp? On this mission, highly doubtful. Sanar? Not while Kyp has anything to say about it. And let's not forget that there's no way Jaina would let her sister go on a suicidal operation, and I have no doubt she _would_ know if Sanar was in danger."

"Well, what about—"

"Tiran or Cerasy?" he suggested in disbelief. "They just got married. They have everything going for them. Veras and Braun are too important to this task, and they know very well what they're doing—I can't see them getting killed, either. If it has to be anyone, it may as well be me," Miko reasoned. He sounded far more indifferent than he felt.

"No!" she stormed.

"You shouldn't get so upset over this. The future is constantly changing, and…let's face it. Sanar is extremely cynical about this place and anyone's chance of survival."

"But—"

"Everything is going to be fine," he told her firmly.

She hesitated. "You promise?"

He relaxed. Miko doubted that she fully bought his confidence, let alone his promise, but maybe she would shelve her fear for a while, or at least long enough to get some sleep. "I promise I don't plan to die."

"If you die, I am so gonna hurt you," she threatened.

He hoped that, if Sanar was right, Krista wouldn't see his death.

Miko raised an eyebrow as Krista started rolling out her bedroll next to his. "Um, Krista?" he said.

"I'm not sleeping next to the married couples, or the girl who gets nightmares, or the lovesick puppy. And I don't like being alone in the dark, in a strange place, and you're liable to get yourself killed during the night if I'm not around. I'm sleeping here."

"So, basically, you want to keep me safe so your brothers can put me in the hospital when we get back?"

She looked up at him as she lay down. Her blond hair spilled loose over her pillow, and the glowlight in the centre of the camp made her eyes gleam. "I thought you said you could handle my brothers."

"'Can' and 'want to' are two entirely different things."

"Well, as long as you _can_," she said, with a bright smile he could make out even in the darkness. He told himself that was all he noticed about the young woman lying next to him.

"Goodnight, Kris."

She turned on her side to look at him. "G'night, Miko."

Eventually, despite Sanar's troubling insinuation, Miko's breathing slowed in slumber. Krista, however, couldn't sleep. Her eyes remained on Miko, and they moved only to check on noises.

She had lost too many people—her parents, friends, colleagues…. She just couldn't do it again. When it came to choosing between leaving and being left, Krista would always choose the first. She had gotten very good at having fun times with beings, and then walking away before the relationship had any depth.

There were exceptions, of course. Jaina, for example: the two girls had been friends before the war, and Jaina had refused to let Krista run. Still, she was more of a trusted, favourite acquaintance than a friend. Zekk, through his involvement with Jaina and then GF Intelligence, not to mention Krista's once-crush, could be counted on to know something about Krista as well. Her brothers, of course, were inescapable, and completely resistant to the idea of Krista being an adult.

But Miko…Miko had been an accident. An accident of speeder crash proportions, and one she had barely even noticed, at first. As she always did with guys, she had flirted with him in the beginning. When he hadn't responded, however, Krista had backed off. Now, of course, she realized that without her flirting, she had become a great deal more real with Miko than anyone else. Time spent together in close quarters, alone and on missions, had encouraged a bond between them.

Miko had been a _ship crash_ into her defences, and now she doubted she could stand him leaving her forever, too. Anyone who wanted to hurt Miko would have to come through her.

And if that meant she became the one who didn't leave NLY? Krista could deal with that.

Just as long as she didn't lose Miko.

Krista closed her eyes, and tried to sleep. Eventually, she succeeded.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x-x_**

Please R&R!

.Tjz


	80. Ch13: Ghosts

**Chapter Thirteen: Ghosts**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

It had been a lifetime—one both too long and far too short.

Sanar watched her feet as they traveled the overgrown path. Their not-so-merry little band had left behind the black Plasa sand three days ago and had come out of the mountains the night before. Now…Sanar breathed deeply and looked around…Brin.

She did not find, as she had half-expected, an inferno, or wailing and despairing people. Instead, only several scattered, abandoned houses remained. Time had worn some down into crumbling shacks while others had better withstood the years. Few and far between, there was nonetheless no mark to remember the homes that had been burned down.

There were no bloody corpses, nor grieving family members. No soldiers stalked Sanar with their malicious eyes, thinking _niftyax_ at her. The wind blew through the grass and Sanar's hair, carrying with it the stories this land had seen. The dark green trees creaked and swayed on the other side of the river.

Had she never been here before, would Sanar still know what this town had seen? A ghost town, Brin—a home for ghosts. _Sanar_'s ghosts.

_Libby beckoned, her ebony hair flying in her face. "C'mon, Sanar! Me ma's gonner make them swayt cakes fer us!" Her desert accent was still thick, but Sanar understood her agemate._

Sanar stumbled a little. Suddenly, she was a ten-year-old girl again.

_And there was Tonny, and little Juba playing with the colourful "boo-ta-fi." Clayra ran ahead of her, pale hair looking just like a halo as she giggled._

_"Sanar, catch me!"_

She caught herself. No, no—Tonny and Juba were dead or, at the very least, much older and far less playful. And Clayra… Sanar winced in pain, as she always did when she thought of her sister. Despite Clayra's supposedly loving husband, who knew how Sanar's little sister was? Alone, probably—in danger, always.

To her left had once been her uncle Iplan's one bedroom "bachelor home." She, Mama, Clayra and Devnos had lived there for nearly a year before Jarran had died. The soldiers wouldn't let them live at home, even with Iplan as their "lord"; for being rebels by connection, they lost comfort.

_Mama sobbing hysterically; Devnos' pale face; Clayra's uncomprehending, unaware indifference; Uncle Iplan's horror. Her pain—terror—and the Strings shuddering and hissing at her of things to come…_

Now there was only long grass. She wondered—had Rafintair's men burned his home, and perhaps her uncle too? Or had they simply dismantled it? Perhaps the soldiers had killed her uncle, and the other villagers had rescued some objects. Maybe they had taken down the house themselves and used the wood for their forbidden fires. Perhaps, perhaps, perhaps…

But despite her wandering thoughts, her feet found it. The traitors she walked on had led her to just that spot, and Sanar was just masochistic enough to look up.

Their home was still mostly there, though Sanar couldn't guess why. Rafintair's men had not known the extent of Jarran's role in the Resistance, and so they had not made an "example" of him. After all, even in Quatroc some men succumbed to their wives' witchery; Jarran was not so different in weakness, to their eyes. They had not burned the house he had built, nor had they put him to death. Instead, they had sold him away to the Imperials, where he died. She wondered if someone had bribed one of the officials to leave her family alone…

The front door was broken and hung precariously, as if an extra gust of wind would blow it down. Sanar's mother had tried to teach her to make curtains, once; her examples still hung in the windows, where they had become ratty from moth holes. The roof sagged.

"Sanar?" called someone from behind. "I wouldn't go in there, if I was you. It looks danger—"

Sanar ignored them, and stepped up on the mouldy deck, then through the door.

_"Mama, I'm home!"_

_The lantern filled the front room with a warm glow. Clayra was playing with Mama's string, and she didn't look up from the colourful strands. "Sa-ah-ar," she sang happily._

_"Hey, Clayra. Whatcha up to?"_

_"Play-in, play-in, mountains and sky, storms-a-comin…"_

A ghost home. It was made of dead wood and cloth and filled with slaughtered contentment. The front room was dark; she couldn't imagine there was much to see. Some of her mama's yarn, missed by scavengers, and perhaps only that. The furniture and pictures had moved with them to Iplan's now missing house, and—some of them—to Quatroc. Sanar didn't need pictures to know what she had lost. Yet she still had one image of her family, tucked away in her bag, where it had nearly faded from too much studying.

Would anyone ever treasure her picture, the way she did Clayra, Devnos and Jarran's?

_"Oh, Sanar…" Her mother sighed in exasperation. "Look at you! You're covered in mud…again. Aren't you too old for this yet?"_

_"Sorry, Mama," she said. But she wasn't._

_"Well, go wash up." Caesarea shook her head in surrender. "When you're clean, come and help me with supper." With a last despairing look, the blond woman returned to the kitchen, muttering under her breath as she did so._

_Sanar grinned, but Devnos wasn't there to laugh with her, and Clayra was too sweet to appreciate storm mud. Sanar enjoyed it alone._

The dark-haired woman thought, _Jaina might_. She bit her lip. _Jaina might miss me, when I'm gone_. Sanar, for one, hoped that _she_ would not have to survive the reverse situation.

Sanar was a survivor, but she didn't want to survive _that_.

A floorboard cracked under her feet. She stepped off it quickly, then left for the bedrooms. When she walked, dust and at least one rodent scattered. A left behind rug practically disintegrated when her foot landed on it.

Sanar didn't pass the threshold of her parents' old room. Their marriage bed was still there. Her mama had screamed and clawed when Jarran's brother tried to move it. Sanar didn't doubt that all her father's left behind clothes still hung in the closet.

A dead room…and Sanar couldn't face her father's ghost right now.

_Daddy wasn't home yet, so Sanar closed her parents' bedroom door, and skipped to the room she shared with Clayra. Before she reached it, however, something caught her eye…._

Her old room had been stripped completely bare. Only the curtainless window remained. Sanar kneeled before it and looked out. The sky rumbled dark grey, and the clouds blocked the sun.

A storm approached. Sanar smiled, just a little, before leaving her room to pursue an idea.

Devnos had been so…secretive on his last days here. Now, she wondered if he had already known of their father's impending death. Perhaps he even had known they would be taken to Quatroc after Carida's destruction. He had certainly basked in being at home far more than usual. Had he been working on something?

_"Hey, Devy-boy," she sang as she entered his room without permission._

_He looked up, startled, then frowned. "Don't you_ ever _knock?"_

_"Nope." She grinned and hopped onto his bed, landing next to him._

_"Oh—great, that's just great, Brownie. Did you have to do that while covered in mud? Mama's gonna kill me."_

_"Psh," she brushed it off. "Mama adores you. She wouldn't harm a hair on your head, and you know it."_

How many times had she simply barged into Devnos' room—his sanctuary—to see him writing? How many times had she unknowingly interrupted the Strings'—the Force's—whispers of Prophecy?

When she pushed open the door, she was amazed to find that she still had to fight the excitement. _Devnos and his stories wait just behind this magical, wonderful door…_

But when she passed the threshold, Devnos was still dead. And so was his sanctuary.

_Parchment had been pinned up all over his walls; some thought they were only old scribbles Devnos had used to make his room his own._

_Sanar knew better: they were the start of her brother's writing. They were gold._

The walls, which had once been covered with sketches and discarded scribblings, were bare. It was like every other surface in her old home. What surprised her, however, was that half the room had despaired into rotting wood and scummy stone. Time and the elements had not treated Brin's houses kindly, to be sure, but the damage that had been done to Devnos' room was…unbelievable. Simply unbelievable. If she hadn't known better, she would have thought the weather had Devnos' number.

_"Go get cleaned up, Brownie," Devnos muttered. His features were strained, and he massaged his temples as if he had a migraine._

_Whispering—the Strings were whispering—so why couldn't she hear them? "You promised you'd tell me the rest," she pouted._

_If anything, his face became even tenser, and he furtively glanced to the far side of his room. "Can't you just…wait? I don't like that story. I want to stop it."_

_"No!" Her eyes widened in panic. "It's my_ favourite_. Please!"_

_He flinched. "Sanar…not the Kavishka story. Why don't I tell you a different one? Maybe—the one about Mek, Jane and Sarah? Or—or maybe—"_

_"No!" she cried, her eyes becoming glassy. "The_ Kavishka_!"_

_Devnos looked as if he wanted to argue more, but he gave up. "Fine," he said despairingly. "I'll finish it."_

_She beamed widely and hugged him tightly. "You're the best brother in the galaxy!" she gushed._

_Over her shoulder, a tear escaped his eyes, and slid a path down her skin. "No, I'm not," he whispered_.

_I wonder_, she thought suddenly, _if he emptied it_. Devnos had used a loose board in his closet wall to hide things. Sanar had discovered it a year or so before the soldiers came. Devnos had thought he was so _clever_ about it, she hadn't had the heart to tell him she knew all about it. Besides, sometimes he had written down new stories (prophecies?), or had added more to the old ones, that he had yet to tell her. She hadn't wanted to give up that wealth.

_Her hunger for the Kavishka story temporarily satiated, Sanar allowed Devnos to send her away fifteen minutes later. She was half-way down the hall before SomeThing pulled her back to peek through the crack in the door._

_Devnos' head was in his hands, and he rocked slightly on his bed, as if he was in pain. "Stop it, please, please, please," she heard him whispering brokenly. "Not her, don't do it, please…"_

_Abruptly he stood, expression dark and lost and twisted. "You're sick._ Sick_. She's just… Damn you. _Damn you_."_

_He went to his secret hiding place, and a moment later he returned to his bed with his other book, the one he never let Sanar read. Looking as if every second killed him, her brother wrote._

_Furiously_.

She smirked in triumph when the wood plank gave. At the bugs, wet wood, and the smell of decay, however, she made a face. "Lovely." What would her neat-and-tidy brother say if he could see the mess his room had become?

At first, she thought that the hiding place had been cleaned out only to fill with disgusting things. But—Sanar's eyes widened—that wasn't so. Devnos' private journal/storybook had been left behind. The cover had been clawed by something, and the pages were no doubt as weather-beaten as the house. And yet, it _was_ the book Devnos had never allowed her to read. She had begged, cried, bargained and schemed, but he had remained ever stubborn.

_Well, what he doesn't know now can't hurt him_, Sanar thought, a little guilty, as she snatched his precious journal. She hadn't seen even a phantom-y glimmer of Devnos since he died, so she assumed he was all about death-puts-things-in-perspective. He would realize that Sanar was adult enough to read the—she assumed—more mature versions of his stories/prophecies, right?

Despite the mould and damp leather, Sanar held the book close as she left.

When she next turned around, she was out in the pouring rain, with one of her storms coming. And the ghosts still remained.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Kyp had brought her in from the storm, though not before she was already drenched. Sanar now sat at a window seat in the front room, puddling on the cushioned seat out of petty spite. The rain beat against the windows with a comforting, loud drum. Despite the…questionable…shelter they had taken, Sanar felt at home.

The group had taken over a building with minimal structural damage. Sanar almost laughed at the irony when she recognized it as the barracks of the soldiers' captain. To an eleven-year-old, the red house had been large and expensive, with its "windows" and stone foundation.

Before they left, Sanar planned to do some serious damage. Maybe she'd start by destroying the busts of Rafintair and Gaffil. Or perhaps by cutting up the tapestry of "Pucijir's triumph," which hung over the fireplace. That might be fun, too. Veras would want in on it, of course, but Sanar was sure there was enough defacing for the both of them. Sanar grinned as she leaned against the window pane. The smirk soon disappeared however, as her thoughts returned to Devnos and his journal.

"Are you alright?" a voice asked, interrupting her musings.

Sanar looked at Braun through wet lashes. "Huh? Of course I am." A little curious despite herself, she queried, "Why?"

"Veras gets the same look sometimes," he explained. "Usually after we leave this place."

Sanar shook her head. "I'm fine," she stated.

Smirking, she spoke frankly, though not on the topic he had been directing them toward. "I can't get over Veras being married. She was almost warier of guys than me."

The sandy-haired man rubbed his jaw, and smiled very faintly. "It took patience."

"I bet," she said dryly. "Did she scream at you, no holds barred, at least once?"

"The second time we met, which was the first time we were alone."

"That's Veras," Sanar told him almost proudly.

He smiled across the room at the woman herself.

"You do realize," the dark-haired woman said, "that if you do something stupid, I'll help her kill you, right?"

"Sure," Braun replied amiably. Then, "I'll leave you to your reading." With a nod, he walked away.

Sanar scowled. Apparently, she hadn't been discreet enough about Devnos' book. Glancing around at the others, who were trying to make the "living" room bearable for the storm, she stood. "I'm gonna…" She made a vague hand gesture. "See you."

"Okay," Krista said. "Have fun." Despite the girl's light tone, there was something wary and cold in Krista's blue eyes. No doubt it was because of Sanar's insinuation the night before. Since then, Krista had been sticking quite close to Miko; she was suspicious around Sanar. The dark-haired woman, for one, wished she could explain what she had said.

"I'll try," Sanar muttered, with a shrug. "But I'm sure fun'll just find me on my own. 'Cuz there's just so much of it in this place."

"Take a candle," Miko told her. He lit one and held it out to Sanar, who took it carefully.

"Thanks."

She exited the living room in favour of the hallway. She peered into the inky blackness, which was relieved only a little by her candle and saw several doorways. "Alright, which one of you isn't a torture chamber?" she asked them under her breath. She shut the door to the living room.

"Already driven you to talking to doors, have they?" a gravely voice asked. "The memories, I mean."

She started. "What— Oh. Durron." He had been hiding behind the door; she wondered why.

The Kavishka grinned as he stepped into the corridor, and the light of her candle. Still wet from the storm, he left a dark trail behind him; his hair was unruly and in his face. "Do you usually wander abandoned buildings during a storm?"

"No." She brushed her dripping hair back in an affronted manner. "Usually I'm out in them. I _like_ storms, thank you very much.

"I thought I'd go wreck something. Maybe one of the awful tapestries they made us girls weave."

"You sure you weren't trying to read that mouldy book of yours in private?" Amused, he raised an eyebrow.

"It isn't mouldy."

"Not after you spent five minutes scraping it off," he agreed. "What is it?" He moved as if to look at it, and she withdrew with a scowl.

"It was my brother's," she informed him in a glacial tone. As far as she was concerned, their little conversation could end there. And would, if Durron was able to pick up on the 'drop it' vibes.

Deciding to just take any room and hope for the best, she swept past Durron to enter the first door to the right. She lucked out—it appeared to be a guest's room. It was smaller than the front room by half with a fireplace had been built into the far wall. A window, half-covered by a ratty, torn curtain, was several feet away. Quickly, she pulled aside the material; she jumped back when a winged animal shrieked and flew past her.

"How sweet," Durron said as he walked into the room after her. "Even pets run away from you."

"Maybe you could follow it out," she suggested, pasting a sweet smile on her face.

"Well, I would, but I'm curious… Why would Devnos leave his book in the home you had to abandon?"

"It isn't important," she muttered. Having checked the window sill for further life, she perched on it in a prim manner.

"The book isn't?" he asked disbelievingly. "Then why are you holding it so tight?"

_Because it's Devnos' and it's full of his stories_. "It's important to _me_," she answered sullenly.

"Why?"

Sanar bit down on her lip to keep from screaming. "Because," she snapped instead.

"No need to get snippy." He raised his hands in mock surrender. "Just asking."

"Yeah, well, leave me alone," she grumped.

"Your wish is my command, dear lady."

Despite his reply (which really abused sarcasm, in her opinion), Durron leaned against the doorframe. Sanar lovingly opened the book to read, pointedly ignoring him. His stare unnerved her however, and she could barely enjoy reading the first story. It took her nearly eight minutes to realize that she was reading Jaina and Zekk's story, with details and backstory she hadn't heard before meeting the couple.

Impatient, she flipped through the pages until she found the tale of the Kavishka. Unsurprisingly, it had been starred as important. She wondered, suddenly, if Devnos had taken down any notes on _her_ role.

Those dark green eyes were still staring.

In his gaze, there was something compelling and strange—like a name that hid from her conscious mind, taunting her with her inability to remember. Sanar looked up.

"He never let me read this when we were kids," she heard herself explain. "Judging by the detail, I'd guess these are the actual prophecies. Jaina and Zekk are in here."

"How much?"

"Well, I learned way too much about their little vacation to 'Bob.'" She made a face. "It was all hero-y and angsty and romantic, with declarations of undying love and stuff. Really not what I wanted to read."

He frowned and walked further into the room. "It bothers you," he realized. "Jaina and Zekk, I mean. Because you, uh, loved Onyx?"

"Ew, no." She gave him a condescending look. "I _never_ loved Onyx. Especially now, that's just gross."

He raised one thick eyebrow—an action she could just make out in the dim candlelight.

"Okay," she amended. "I _thought_ I did, but it was a total accident. I got him mixed up with—" Her eyes fell to the floor as she realized what she was saying. "With someone else."

"Who?" Durron pressed. No one had ever said that Kyp Durron knew when to quit. It was the second time Sanar had let something like this slip, though. He was becoming increasingly curious.

"I was just going to start reading the Kavishka prophecy," Sanar quickly told him. Hopefully, she thought, the subject change would distract him.

Either it worked, or he allowed her to drop the subject, because he said, "Really? Anything new?"

"I haven't started reading it yet," she admitted.

"Well, go ahead—out loud," he said. Cautiously, as if he thought she would run at a too-quick movement, he leaned against the wall by her.

She shifted uneasily at his proximity before reminding herself that it was just _Durron_, and she could handle his irritating qualities. "Well, okay."

Sanar reopened the book carefully, mindful of its age. When the first page seemed unusually heavy, however, she flipped it quickly. "Oh, please."

"What?"

She held it up for him, and his brow furrowed. Just like with Devnos' room, it seemed as if someone had specifically gone after this prophecy. While some words were still legible, Devnos' chicken scratch writing had been marred with blotches of damp and thin fuzz.

"Can you read any of it?" Kyp asked.

She shrugged, disappointment clearly written on her expression. "Some. From the beginning?"

"Anything new, I suppose," he told her. The green eyes that had made Sanar so uncomfortable were now trained on the book.

"O…kay…" She returned to the first page. Pensive, the woman stared at it a moment before reading.

"'_In the year of the goddess, 77 of the second age, a dark one came to ambitious men…he promised them power and strength, should they prove worthy of it_…'"

Sanar gave the page a disgusted look. "This reads like one of Horaire's books."

"Keep reading." When she scowled at him, Kyp added, "There's something going on here."

She huffed unhappily, but continued nonetheless. "A bunch of stuff happens. Mujir's dominion gets overthrown by…oh. Well, Horaire never bragged about _that_."

Kyp wondered who Horaire was; the name sounded familiar. "About what?

"Well, apparently they sacrificed Mujir's priestesses the day Pucijir's Order was declared. Among them was the emperor's wife and—" She swallowed "—and his daughters. In addition, this event was to be echoed every seven years." She sighed. "This is why I hate this planet."

He gently pried the book from her fingers. "I almost feel sorry for Devnos," he muttered absently. "These descriptions…. How old was he?"

"I don't know. He was always writing. The first time he told me the Kavishka story, he was…I don't know. We were both pretty little. He could have been as young as ten."

"Sick."

She grimaced. "Knowing everything now? I would definitely have to agree with you. And all that time, I thought…I _hated_ him, because I thought he had turned on us, but…Mujir."

"Do you want to put off reading until later?" Kyp asked, concerned.

Taking a deep breath, she raised and shook her head. "No. I want to see if it says anything about me."

When he looked confused, she reddened, almost as if she thought she had assumed too much. "Devnos…before he died…he told me that I'm in the prophecy somewhere. I just—I can't remember any mention of a female that fits me; if it's anywhere, the information will be in this book."

He blinked as he recalled Jarran's accidental mention of Sanar being "able to do what her mother was too weak to do." Neither Jarran nor the Force (through hours of meditation) had been willing to explain what Sanar was meant to do. Now, Kyp began to look at the muddled book with more understanding and frustration.

Sanar grew impatient with Kyp's silence and snatched the book back with greedy fingers. "'_From the stock of blood…through the line of blood and the old code…shall come the Kavishka…and by his side comes those whom he needs. Among these_—" Her brow furrowed. "Gunk. Um…

"'_The Kavishka will be tested sorely by_…' Damn—moisture…'_the loss would bring immediate failure_.'" Sanar raised an eyebrow. "Well, that might have been important."

Kyp didn't like this one sithing bit. "Keep going."

"'_Should the Kavishka prove his worthiness, Vengeance will accept him, and the women scorned will grow in power until their peak, on the anniversary of the seven hundred seventy-seventh year_.' Okay, the women scorned are 'Vengeance,' are the Sildar? That explains some stuff."

"'_Thereupon, the Kavishka and_—' more gunk '—_shall attack, and_—'" She sighed angrily. "Oh, really!"

"'And' what?" he pressed.

"And nothing!" She flipped the pages irritably. "It's all messed up until the end. I can't _read_ any of this."

"Let me see." Taking it carefully, he scrutinized the pages. True enough, the writing was blurred, stained, or otherwise indecipherable, up until the last sentence:

_Vengeance will be fulfilled, and order restored, no matter the cost_.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_Foolish hope was his for brief moments when he recognized the book. Devnos let some false naïveté within himself believe that They had missed something, and Sanar would be warned._

_Yet Vengeance had not forgotten something as small as even his notebook, and Devnos cursed himself a thousand times for being a fool._

_And Sanar continued on, unaware_.


	81. Ch14: Sisterly Ties

Chapter Fourteen: Sisterly Ties

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

The next day—after Sanar, Veras and Krista (who joined in because it "looked fun") had vandalized the officer's home to their satisfaction—the group set out.

They travelled for a week through the lonely valley region.  After six days, they came across a small town.  Braun and Veras had managed to buy a kaxi, though the people's suspicious looks had discouraged it.  With the pack animal carrying most of their supplies, the group made steady progress.

Not everyone was getting along, however.  Veras was still angry with Tiran; Krista was overprotective about Miko, especially when Sanar was nearby; and Kyp and Sanar were being…themselves.  Despite this, the real drama only began when they crossed into what Sanar called "summer country."

The landscape was beautiful—right by the ocean—even if the windy weather was not.  Someone had built their massive stone home overlooking the water, their land spread out around them.  Some of it had been farmed, while more penned livestock.  Kept slightly distant from the estate was a small town.

"Great," Veras grunted.  "Rich people."

"_Bribed_ people," Sanar groused in agreement.

"Do you think they would miss some food?"

"It's rather unlikely."

"Well, then, let's take a short cut."

The two women retreated to the rest of their crew, and explained their route through the farm.  If a few balked at theft, Sanar and Veras were sufficiently vengeful as to quiet the others' protests.

It was late afternoon when they reached the first field of in-season fruit.  Miko watched somewhat uncertainly as Veras, Sanar, Tiran, Braun and Krista picked berries.  When two food bags bulged with "the most delicious—and expensive—berries they'd ever eat," they pushed onward.  Into the chilly evening they continued, picking some food, careful not to take so much that anyone would go hungry because the rich people did.

"My brothers would just _die_ if they knew I had to steal to eat on this planet," Krista confided.  She grinned at Miko.  They had passed the others, who were being either love- or vengeance-struck, and thus annoying to those unaffected.

"Well, you shouldn't have to," Miko replied, a little absently.

"Oh, psh.  My brothers still think I'm thirteen—what's teendom without a couple illegal acts?"

"It's one you spend alive," a voice snapped in rough Basic.

Instinctively Krista jumped in front of Miko, as if to protect him from the doom Sanar had foretold.  She cursed herself for not noticing that they had been discovered.

The stranger was of dark colouring, though that may have been because of the encroaching night.  His face looked as if it had been hacked into something resembling features with a hatchet.  Remembering Veras and Sanar's orders to behave submissively when there were witnesses, she checked to see if the man was alone.  She saw no one, and her hand went to the blaster at her hip.

"Kris, don't," Miko whispered against her cheek.  "Let me handle—"

She ignored him.  "Who are you?" she demanded of the stranger.

The stranger scrutinized her briefly before telling Miko, "Keep your woman silent, thief."

Krista's eyes blazed, but she—barely—kept her temper in check.  _Time to play the blonde air-head_, she ordered herself.

"I will give you no names," Miko said, in cold tones.  Despite being caught in the act of thievery, he remained calm; only the smouldering of his eyes hinted at the Darkness he still wrestled with.

Before the stranger could reply, two things happened.  First, the rest of Miko and Krista's group caught up with them.  Sanar and Kyp pushed to the forefront immediately.  Secondly, a pale, fair young woman ran to the field's owner.  Not looking at the others, she quickly asked him something in a foreign tongue.

Sanar stumbled and nearly fell; she did not even look at Kyp when the Sanar-struck Kavishka caught her.  Half-formed sounds escaped her mouth.  "C—Cl—"

The fair-haired woman stopped, then turned slowly.  Her skin became even whiter than normal.

It was a long moment before the fair woman said, "Sanar?"

Krista and Miko remained tense for a fight; they had known Sanar too long to think that people she knew were trustworthy even half the time.  Miko pulled the blonde back to his side.  She allowed it, though probably only because she wasn't paying attention to him.

"Clayra?" Sanar almost whimpered.

The fair woman, Clayra, gave a nod and a half-sob.  Before anyone could make a connection, the two women were embracing and crying.

"_Clayra_," Kyp said in sudden recognition.  When the others looked at him, the Jedi Master smiled.  "Sanar's sister.  By blood," he clarified.  His eyes had lit up at witnessing his beloved's joy.

"Well," Braun said, "I think we'll be staying here for the night.  Gantik, I'd get back to your home for a bit."

The dark-haired stranger had not taken his eyes off Sanar since Clayra had recognized her.  Now, he nodded.  "Uh—of—of course—I—" He turned away abruptly and left.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"So Nichyn's safe?" Clayra asked for perhaps the thousandth time.  "You're sure?"

Again, Sanar nodded and said, "I'm _positive_.  He's being fostered by friends of Jaina's friend."

"Y—you trust this Jana?  And her friend?" Clayra pressed.  She couldn't seem to stop moving, even though she was sitting down in her own, safe home, far away from any real priest, and with Gantik nearby to protect her.  She should have been able to relax, but she couldn't.  Her fingers drummed on the ciinz table, or sometimes came up to comb her gossamer hair.  She shifted constantly, trying to find a comfortable way to sit.  Part of her wanted to run into Sanar's arms again; another part wanted to hit and scream at her sister.

"I trust Jaina with my life," Sanar reassured her sister.  She looked almost as surprised to say it as Clayra was to hear it.

"With your life?" Clayra asked sceptically.

"Even with yours," the older woman replied firmly.  "In every way except blood, Jaina…she's my sister."

She laughed suddenly.  "Larifx, it's still so bizarre to say that…. I hated Jaina when I first met her.  A big part at the beginning was the situation, but she was such a—a hero.  We drove each other nuts."

"No room for two heroes?" Clayra said with a bit of fondness.  The desire to scream receded a little.

"I'm not a hero," Sanar replied.  The old guards closed her eyes, and Clayra nearly hit her right there and then.

Getting back to her younger sister's concerns, the dark-haired woman said, "I promise Nichyn will be safe.  The mom is a Jedi Knight—she knows a friend of Jaina's."

"If I lose him…" Clayra moved to sit on her legs, and brought her fist to her mouth.  She loved Nichyn more than anything, even Gantik; Clayra wouldn't survive her son's death.

"You won't.  Not if anything can be done."

"This Jana is your sister?" Clayra asked, quickly changing the subject.  She didn't want to talk about her inability to protect her own son.

"Jaina.  And I said she was."

_Do you want me to trust you or hate you?_ Clayra wondered.  Sanar had always insisted that she would look out for Clayra.  In the same breath, however, she had usually lambasted herself.  And then she had left, and the only hypocrisy Clayra saw was in those who did not have her best interests at heart.

"And you trust her."

"I'm afraid so."

_Is_ _your Jaina so much better than I?  Do you tell_ her _everything?_  "Do you look out for her?"  Clayra would understand _that_—Sanar looked out for a lot of people she didn't really confide in.  Clayra wouldn't mind Miss Solo, if that was the situation.

"I try."  The dark-haired woman snorted.  "Jaina doesn't really need me.  When she gets in trouble—which happens a _lot_—she's got plenty of people who'll get her out.  She isn't like me."  The last part was added under her breath.

"Oh."  Clayra's legs were cramping, so she rolled off them to sit normally.

Sanar watched her carefully, and Clayra bit her lip.  There was something so…different about her older sister.  Many things had changed, in fact.  She couldn't pin them all, though; Clayra decided to ask Gantik later.  He would know—he always knew everything.  And when it came to Sanar, her husband usually knew too much.

"Veras told me you joined the Resistance," Sanar said after an uncomfortable silence.

"Yes, I did." Clayra had a feeling she knew where _this_ was going.  _But at least this part hasn't changed_, whispered the part of her that wanted Sanar to make everything better and safe.

"Clayra, it's really dangerous." Sanar reached out to take her pale sister's hands.

"I know it is," she replied calmly.  "I've been a part of it for several years now."

Sanar's expression became pained.  "_How_ long?"

"Not long after you—" _abandoned me_ "—left, they gave me what aid they could.  I have not stopped helping them since."

"Oh, gods, Clayra—"

"_You_ were a part of it," the younger one retorted.  "Far earlier than I, and much more _actively_, as well.  I—I pass along information, and help make plans—that's all."

"I know people—Larifx, a _gender_ that would not see it as a small thing, Clayra Klis."

"Not all men are like that.  You travel with some; I do not know them, but don't tell me you don't trust them."

"I don't.  I barely know Braun, Tiran and Miko.  I trust their devotion to their loved ones, but that's it."

"And the dark-haired man?  The one who stayed so close to you?"  Sanar had, curiously, declined introducing that one.  Clayra wondered about him, and hoped he was Sanar's lover.  Maybe then Sanar would stay away from Gantik.

_So close to…?_  Sanar frowned.  Did Clayra mean Durron?  "He does _not_ stay 'close to me.'  So don't get all mooney-eyed on me.  He's _Durron_ for stars' sake."

The name sounded vaguely familiar, but Clayra shrugged it off.  "So you don't trust him?"

"I trust him to do what he's supposed to, and then leave so I can be free of him."

Sanar paused, then warily considered her sister.  "Who are you defending?"

"What do you mean?"

"You're saying all this stuff because of one specific guy, aren't you?"  Sanar's lips tightened.  "Who did the priests arrange for you to marry?"

Clayra hesitated.  Gantik and Sanar had been relatively close, once—even now Gantik cared greatly for Clayra's passionate sister.  She had seen the reminiscing looks on his face, had noticed when he thought, _What if I could have saved Sanar instead?_  Clayra loved her husband, but she knew he did not return the depth of her feelings.

Yet Gantik had not made a point of reuniting with Sanar… Out of respect for Clayra, he had to wait—but not this long.  He could have intercepted the little maid who brought the sweet _lachi_ drink Sanar loved but had never had under Horaire's roof.  Then Gantik could have sat next to Sanar, and told her how much he had missed her.  And Sanar would say something dismissive, but her eyes would say, _I missed you, too.  These past years have been so hard without you_.

And Clayra would never have Gantik.

"Who do you speak for?"

"Gantik Whilem," Clayra finally said.  She should have watched Sanar's expression for some hint of jealousy or betrayal, but she couldn't.

"Gantik."

There was something dangerous about the way Sanar said the name.  Clayra wondered if Sanar was angry because Gantik had cheated on her (had Clayra's sister and husband been lovers?) or because Clayra had married him.

"You married _Gantik_?"

"Yes."  Bravely, Clayra raised her eyes.

To her credit, the only signs of Sanar's fury were in her eyes and the unbearable tension in her body.  But Sanar had never been angry with Clayra before, that the younger woman knew of, and it was…painful.

_I need to talk to Gan—_ Panic-stricken, she realized that this wasn't one of the many things her husband would help her with.  In fact, he'd probably drop Clayra and their marriage in favour of regaining Sanar.

"I'm afraid you're soon going to be a widow again, little sister."

"I realize you and Gantik have a…past…" Clayra swallowed hard.  "But Gantik cares about me, and—and I do, too."

Sanar swore under her breath as she stood.  "I am going to…" The dark-haired woman turned away, anger radiating from her in waves.

"Want to tell me," she said through clenched teeth, "how you ended up with _him_?"

_He said you would die if anything happened to me_.  Clayra didn't tell Sanar that, though.  "After you left, the priests didn't know what to do with me.  They thought maybe _I_ was a threat."

Sanar froze.  She didn't even breathe.

"Gantik had been visiting more often, but I didn't think much of it.  I thought he was…I don't know…there on his father's business, maybe.  You…know about his father, right?"  _Say you don't.  Say Gantik didn't love you, didn't trust you, enough_.

But Sanar turned around and nodded.  "Of course," she said.  As if everyone knew that Gantik's father was the unacknowledged half-brother of Rafintair and Gaffil Jir.  As if he did not tell anyone everything before he told them that his family was closely connected to that of NLY's emperor.  As if she had known from the beginning, though Clayra had found out only by mistake and through marriage.  As if Gantik had _wanted_ to share his darkest secret with Clayra's sister, his lover.  For a very real moment, Clayra hated Sanar.

"As Chief Executioner, Gru'loq didn't have a lot of time for dealing with the priests.  Gantik, as Gru'loq's eldest son, has become increasingly important in the priests' eyes.  Some even wanted Gantik to take Horaire's position as High Priest, after you killed the monster.  The priests were…courting Gantik, almost.  Gantik dropped some hints, and they soon sent me to his home.  I don't think they expected him to marry me or adopt my son, but he did.  These past years, he has kept me safe."

"Does he use you as his lover, in exchange for your safety?" Sanar asked tightly.

"He does not use me."  Clayra glared at her sister.  "I love him, and I wish to be a good wife."  _Even more than I wish to be a good sister_, she added silently.

Sanar's hands curled into angry fists.  "He's no good for you."

"That is _only_ your opinion, and not an objective one, by any means!"

"Oh, is that what _he_ said?  That I'm blinded to the whole picture?  I _know_ Gantik, sweet sister.  He is nowhere _near_ good enough for you. He's—"

Clayra stood, her face stormy.  "It is wonderful to see you again, Sanar, but I will not stand for your slander of Gantik's character and value.  I don't care if you're jealous—"

"_Jealous_?" Sanar sputtered incredulously.  "You have no idea how _not_ jealous I am!"

"You are in my home, and you will respect my husband.  If you cannot silence your insults, then I will show you to your room for the night.  You may curse the wall, for all I care."

Sanar's body remained rigid with rage.  "If you could be so kind, then, Whilem's girl?"

Clayra flinched at the polite version of her title.  Her marriage to Gantik must have _really_ angered Sanar for her older sister to speak this way to her.  Privately, Clayra hoped Sanar's anger would keep her from reconciling with Gantik.  "Of course," she said quietly.  The argument had been batted aside for the time; Clayra took no comfort in the fact that, had she been anyone else—perhaps Jaina Solo—Sanar would not have let her win.  Instead, she would have clawed and snarled until she claimed victory.

But not with Clayra, who was too precious and fragile to be exposed to her own sister.

Clayra showed Sanar to the guest room furthest from Gantik's room, and then left for her own.

She did not expect Gantik to visit or call for her this night.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar waited for several minutes after Clayra locked the door behind her.  When she was certain her sister had left, the dark-haired woman picked the lock.  Her mind on the proof of Gantik's hatred for her, she nonetheless wondered why Clayra had _locked_ Sanar's room from the outside.  What, did she think Sanar would murder Gantik in his sleep?

Death would be too good for that _warftha_.  Anyway, Sanar would deal with him tomorrow when he was awake for it.  Perhaps she'd get Durron to try out the Sildar on the son-of-a-Sith.  _After_ Sanar did some serious damage, of course.

Until then, she had to find the others.  Clayra had set up a dinner for them; not long after, everyone but Sanar had retired to their guest rooms.  At the time, Sanar had appreciated the others' understanding departure, as it gave her privacy to catch up with her sister.  Now, she wished that at least one of them had been less polite.

Her socked feet made no sound on the expensively rug-covered floor, and the dim lighting in the hallways made her squint.  Although it was decorated tastefully and Sanar had yet to see any Pucijir paraphernalia, the dark-haired woman couldn't understand how Clayra could call the mansion home.

No doubt, Clayra's memories of _home_, where warmth and love permeated every nook and cranny, were vague.  She had been only six when their father had been taken away.  Clayra's childhood recollections would not do justice to her family's good times.

But that such a lack could drive her to love _Gantik_ of all people… And the idea that Sanar was jealous of Clayra's marriage to that warftha!  What kind of lies had Gantik been feeding her sister?  After dealing with him, Sanar would need to have a long talk with Clayra.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_Niftyax_.  The insult was on the tip of his tongue, and he only just held it back.

He knew he should have stayed in his room.  He should have called Clayra to his room to talk to her, both to discover Sanar's reaction to his marriage, and to reassure the girl.  Sanar would _not_ want to see him, despite his careful protection of her precious younger sister.

_"Don't touch me!" she screamed.  When he tried to reach out and comfort her, she shoved him away.  There wasn't enough force in her movement to hurt him, but he stepped back as if there had been.  "Don't even come_ near _me again!"_

"Sanar, please, gods—" His heart clenched, and he couldn't breathe.  "Sanar, I'm so—"

"I hate you," she spat.  The tears tumbled from her eyes, furious and betrayed.  "I hate _you!  You are just—like—him.  But worse, even worse—you weren't supposed to be, Gantik.  You—" Her chest heaved as she tried to say something.  "I will never forgive you."  She clutched her tattered robe to her tightly.  With one last, tumultuous look, she spun away and out of his life_.

Those were her last freely given words to him.  Her own way of killing him.  He'd give Sanar this: she knew how to torture a man.

"Niftyax," he whispered.  In its own way, the word was praise—worship, even; she was everything Pucijir's Order despised and had tried to defile.

He almost hadn't believed it when his father informed him that Sanar had (finally) killed High Priest Horaire.  Gantik had done what he could to help her afterwards—he had suggested that making a big deal out of the murder would give her too much glory.  Because of his words, her death was supposed to be quick.  When Lord Onyx had intervened and halted her stoning, Gantik had lent support and reminded the others of the Empire's strength.

When Sanar had been cornered into leaving, Gantik had cast his eye to her younger sister.  He had not interacted with her much beforehand.  Sanar guarded Clayra far more closely than she did herself.  He had not seen the girl as particularly impressing.  Sanar adored her, but that was as much as for being her last family member as anything.  He had fallen in love and lust with Sanar for her pride, mystery and scalding passion.  Clayra had none of these things.  Everything in her contrasted with Sanar, even looks.  Tall, thin and ethereal, Clayra was barely there; dark, curvaceous and tiny, Sanar pulled everything—pain, love, hatred—right to her.

Yet Gantik had married the barely-there sister, because marriage to him would protect her.  He had once asked Sanar to let him do that for her, but she had flared at him about impertinence.  He had simply arranged his marriage to Clayra; she had been almost unbearably grateful.  And, apparently, the poor girl had fallen in love with him.

Which, no doubt, would end in "poor Gantik" when Sanar found out and killed him.  Especially if (when) she found out that Gantik had never even entertained the idea of feeling the same way.

"Kriff it, Whilem, your monstrosity is a maze.  Where the Larifx are my friends?"

He jumped.  From his spot in the shadows, he had hoped she wouldn't see him.  "Sanar."  His voice might have shaken just a little.

"Tonight's your lucky night, Whilem."  Sanar stomped over to his hiding place.  The expression on her face was predatory.  "I'm going to put off killing you until tomorrow."

"Comforting," he said dryly.

"For you?  It's twelve extra hours of life."  Her eyes narrowed.  "Now where are my friends?"

"This way," he instructed her after a moment.  His lips were pulled tight.  "They're in the east wing."  As he led her through the house's maze, he asked, "Why are you down this way, anyway?  These are the servants' quarters."

Her gaze, irritated, flicked over him for a minute as she strode next to him.  "If it's so out of the way, what are _you_ doing here?  Late night 'orders' for the maids?"

He gave her a hard look.  "Don't be crude, Sanar."

"Sorry," she lied caustically.  "You live in the gutters; I assumed you liked it with the filth."

"I see your tongue has lost none of its edge.  You still brandish it as if going into battle."

"Into battle?  No, nothing so grand—just, eventually, your humiliation, which won't take much.  A mirror ought to do."

"So hard to an old friend?  Really, Sanar."

"You married and bedded my sister, Gantik."  Sanar's face was dark, even considering the candle-lit hallway.  "That's sick, even for you.  Using _Clayra_ for revenge?"

"Get over yourself, Sanar."  He didn't mean to love her name.  "You barely factored into the decision.  Clayra needed to marry before the priests killed her in your place.  She lives a good life with me."

"To the son of the Chief Executioner—and, when your father dies, to the Jirs' favourite murderer.  To a man who knows _nothing_ of love."

"By Pucijir!" he spat.  "Be silent, or I will—" His voice cut off as he realized what he had said, and what it had meant to her.

Sanar gave him an icy, disdainful look.  "Oh, you have changed, indeed," she derided sarcastically.  "Now that you are exposed, what _will_ you do?  Beat me?"  She laughed mockingly.  I'd like to see you try, little boy."

"I'm sorry," he murmured.  "I've spent so much time pretending to be one of them, I've picked up some of their curses."

"Just a few swear words?  I don't think that's all you picked up, _warftha_."

"You provoked me!  I never would have said that to Clayra in private!"

"Just like a boy—blame a woman when you do something wrong.  Bet it grates on you," she sneered, "seeing me walk around unbroken.  Given half a chance, what would you do to me?"

_Break you_.  Of course he would _want_ to.  She had teased and played, and then slapped him away when he fell for her.  The power could fill him up as he knew that _he_ had succeeded where the others had failed, and he could make her love him for it….

"Part of me might crave it," he said slowly, taking his life into his own hands.  "But I would never do it."

"Of course not.  I wouldn't let you."

He smiled grimly.  "I knew you once, Sanar Klis.  I could do it."

"Not before I killed you."

He shrugged, and let her think what she would.

He slowed to a halt.  "Your…friends…are down this corridor," he said after a few minutes.  "The first two doors on both sides, and the third on the left."

"Great.  Any reason my room is completely on the other side of your monstrosity?"

"Perhaps Clayra thought she had roomed you next to your companions; we do not usually live here."  He scowled a little; Clayra's real reason was abominably clear to him.  When would the girl learn not to love him?

"Maybe," Sanar muttered, as if she thought Gantik was just shuffling the blame on her "innocent" sister.

"Well, I wish you nightmares," she told him sweetly as she followed his directions.  "Or at least a sleepless night.  It'll be your last."

"Wait—" Had he said that out loud?"

"_What_, Gantik?"  She turned around with her hands on her hips.

Apparently, he had.  "I—" _love you_.  "That is, I…" _hate you_.  "I do care about Clayra and Nichyn, Sanar."  He met her eyes squarely.  "Not for her the way she wants me to, but… I will not let her come to harm."

He waited for a reaction, but received none.  "I just want you to know that."

Sanar's lips tightened, and she walked away.  Without faltering, she took the second door on the left—the room Gantik had prepared for the unmarried raven-haired man.

She left Gantik alone.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Kyp looked up in surprise (and carefully hidden pleasure) when Sanar entered his room.  It was late, but he had expected her to talk with Clayra far longer than this.  "Sanar.  Hey."

"I was thinking…" she started off right away.  "Well, apparently we're a year or so early, so we don't need to move as quickly.  To meet Prophecy, I mean."

"You want to stay here longer."

"Just an extra day or two," she hurried to assure him.  "There'll be lots of time to be with Clayra, after.  I just…" She trailed off.

"Of course," he said.  "That goes without saying.

"Clayra doesn't want to come?" he asked casually.

Sanar glared at him.  "What we're doing is _dangerous_.  Clayra will never have to look at Rafintair or Gaffil—both of whom we'll have to deal with if they don't kill us first—not if I have anything to say about it."

"What's so awful about _seeing_ them?"  At her aghast expression, he explained.  "It is _what_ they do that makes them monsters, and Clayra must know about some of it."

Sanar shivered and sat down on the bed.  "I've seen them.  They visited Horaire sometimes.  I'd glimpse one or the other or both walking through the halls.  Sometimes, when he thought I needed to be reminded of 'what I was', he…" The woman shuddered.

She straightened a little.  "There's a myth about the Jir men: that they bargained with Pucijir.  As long as they uphold His dominion, they are under His protection."

"Do you believe that?"

"Mujir's Resistance sent out assassins a few times.  Rafintair and Gaffil's invincibility was well established, and the Resistance fighters screamed for death.  They're probably still alive, but…their souls are dead.  The Jirs just won't let them go."

"So we're killing the unkillable?"

"Well, you and the Sildar are.  The rest of us are just kind of…along for the ride.  Make sure you don't do it all wrong."

"You haven't given up on being an important player in this, have you?" Kyp asked.  He doubted Prophecy would let her surrender her part, whatever it may be, but he hoped he was wrong.  The whole business seemed…shady.

"No, I just… I'll figure it out eventually.  Until then, I'm going to avoid Krista and Miko."

She looked down.  "Well, that's all I wanted to say.  We're staying, and I'll deal with Gantik."

"Clayra's husband Gantik?" Kyp frowned.  "What did he do?"

"He stabbed me in the back, then married my sister."

Kyp's expression turned grave.  "What did he do _exactly_?"

"What do you care?"

"Just deal with the fact that I care.  What did he do to you?"

"Nothing I shouldn't have seen coming."

"Sanar…"

She huffed impatiently.  "He kept saying he was my friend, and got me to start half-trust him, and then he…proved he's just like them."

"Meaning?"  With Sanar, that could translate into something as genuine as a too-flowery declaration of love, or as unspeakable as…anything.

Sanar gave him a look.

Kyp didn't quite manage to keep the fury off his face.  "I am going to—"

"Oh, please."

"Damnit, Sanar, I will.  He'll be begging for death on the _Sildar_ when I'm done with him.  And he better sithing well hope he never meets Jaina, or I'll look like his kindly old grandmother."

"Did I _ask_ for your help?" she demanded.  "No…I didn't.  _I_ will deal with him.  I happen to know a great deal more about inflicting pain without going Dark than you do.  The last thing we need is some hero-wannabe frying the chief executioner's son with Force lightning.

"_I'll_ handle this," she repeated.

"Were you in love with him?" Kyp asked in a surly tone.  "Is that why you're protecting him?"

"Why do people keep assuming I want Gantik?" the dark-haired woman demanded angrily.  "You, Clayra, Gantik, Horaire… I barely even wanted a friend, let alone a lover!"

"So you two were never even close to…"

"Mujir, no!  I can't even—"

"You said you never even wanted a lover; does that mean you've never been in love?"  Despite himself, Kyp's mood brightened a little.  His love for Sanar was hopeless enough without adding competition.

"I never said that.  I've been in love—I _am_ in love."

Kyp stumbled back a step as if he had been punched in the gut.  "What?  Wh—who?  When?"  His mind raced—had Sanar ever seemed particularly happy in someone's presence?  Why hadn't Jaina warned him?"

"I've known him for a long time."  Although confused and a little insulted by his horrified reaction, Sanar found herself enjoying it.  The victory, of his inability to think straight and be unaffected, was marred only by a small, perplexing flicker of concern on her part.

"What—what's his…his name?"

"It doesn't matter.  He loves me as much as I love him."

"Of course he does," Kyp muttered distantly.  He looked ready to collapse.

Sanar bristled at the perceived sarcasm.  "Is it so unbelievable that someone loves me?  Am I that monstrous?  That unlovable?"

The Kavishka finally regained some of his wits in the face of her anger.  "No, of course not.  Of _course_ not."

"I've done a lot of bad stuff in my life, but I never acted out of needless aggression.  I'm not a monster."

"I never thought you were.  Sanar—"

"What, just because I get mad at you a lot, you think it's unbelievable that I can love someone?"

"That is _not_ what I _said_, kriff it!"

"Well, I do.  I can.  I _am_.  I love him, and I don't care what you think!"

Without waiting for a response, she spun on her heel and stomped out of the room with her head held high.

Three minutes later, she ran back in.  "I still don't care.  At all.  But I don't know how to get back to my room, so where is Krista sleeping?"

He considered both pissing her off _and_ pursuing their argument, but he thought better of it.  For once.  "First door on the left."

"Great.  Thanks."  She stomped back out.

Three seconds later, she was back again.  Kyp raised an eyebrow.

"_Not_ thank you.  Jerk."

As soon as the door shut for the third time, Kyp laughed.


	82. Ch15: Seven Companions

**Chapter Fifteen: Seven Companions**

**_  
-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"So, are you at least going to treat me like an adult at least? Tell me what's going on?"

Clayra's big sister and her sister's friends had been in her home for two days. Gantik had not been harmed, and Clayra assumed that Gantik had soothed Sanar's jealousy with the truth about his sham of a marriage. After all, what woman could hold her own when Gantik loved her? Maybe Sanar could…for a little while. But not even she could fight her lucky heart forever. Gantik was perfect; everyone loved him once they knew him. Perhaps Clayra's husband and sister were, even now, renewing their relationship.

Gantik lived and Sanar remained, as did her companions.

Clayra could count Sanar's Na'Lein friends on one hand: Gantik, Veras, and Teigra. None were ever the true definition of "friends". The first loved her, and the other two were only girls who knew Sanar better than most.

Now, Sanar travelled with seven people who knew her. Clayra wanted answers.

"Well? What's going on?"

In a bored manner, Sanar studied her hair for split ends. "Well, it's like this. Kyp's the Kavishka, and we eight are going to overthrow Pucijir's Order, and re-liberate women. And don't even think about asking to travel with us. You aren't coming."

"The Kavishka?" Clayra would argue her addition to the group when she had the facts.

"Turns out, Dev wasn't evil, and he was a seer. Do you remember of his stories?"

_Was? Huh?_ "Yes, some."

"They were all true. The Kavishka is the only one who can kill Pucijir's puppet emperor."

The fair-haired woman thought for a moment before speaking. "Eight is a bad number."

"What?"

"There are eight of you—"

"Seven companions and the Kavishka."

"Okay, I'll give you that." Clayra sulked for a moment, disgruntled that her point had been so easily swept aside. "Gantik and I are coming with you."

"Over my dead body."

"I want to help! Gantik is going with you no matter what, and the group number will definitely be bad that way." _And Gantik might never come back if I'm not there to remind him that he chose_ me.

"Numbers only have power if you give it to them. And Gantik is _not_ coming, so there goes half your argument."

To Clayra, the words sounded like those of a protective lover, and the younger woman's temper rose. "Stop treating me like a child!"

Sanar opened her mouth to snap a retort, but she caught herself at the last moment. "Clayra, you're my sister, I love you, and I can't risk you."

"Would you 'risk' Jaina Solo?"

"You and Jaina are completely different people," Sanar explained tersely. "She—she _thrives_ on these kinds of missions. Everyone in her family is some kind of hero, and Jaina's one of the worst. Besides, she just came out of fighting on the front lines of a decade-long war. If she had been able to come, she would have been fine."

"And me?" Clayra demanded with a sullen expression. "I've worked with the Resistance for years now, and I'm still just some glass doll?"

"_You_ are my little sister, and the only one in our family who has a scrap of innocence left. I'm not letting you lose it."

"I was right there with you in Horaire's 'care', Sanar. The only difference between you and I is that you finally killed our tormentor."

"_Our_ tormentor?" Sanar couldn't stifle the hard laugh. "Well," the younger girl heard her mutter, "I always get the job done—at least I can say that.

"Clayra, they left you alone. Don't talk to me about what Horaire did to you." The dark-haired woman's face was set in harsh lines as she briefly turned her eyes away.

The blonde woman stared at her sister for a moment before saying, "I'm not afraid to fight on this mission, Sanar. This is my planet, too. I may not really remember how it was for us before, but I want it for my family."

"It. Is. Dangerous." Sanar visibly reined herself in. "The things they would do to you if we didn't succeed—or even if we did… I won't let you go through that."

"I know what failure or capture will bring."

"You have _no idea_ what they would do to you," Sanar snapped. "_No…idea._"

"What they did to you," Clayra replied in an unyielding tone. "That's what they could do."

Her sister's brown eyes closed as if in pain. "Clayra, sweetie—"

"No! You didn't want me to see, but I did. The bruises—the insults—"

"Stop it."

"I was _there_, Sanar. I was there maybe three minutes before you killed him. I have more than an inkling of what he must have tried to do to you—"

"Mujir, you're naïve." Sanar's voice was half-exasperated, half-relieved.

Clayra startled a little, then became annoyed. "He tried to—to rape you, didn't he?"

"You honestly think I would kill someone—even him—because they raped me?" Sanar laughed humourlessly. "Larifx, in their eyes it wouldn't even have been rape—just some witch's seduction."

"Then why…?"

"I _really_ don't want to talk about this," Sanar told Clayra. In her voice was a warning.

"Why?" The younger one huffed impatiently. "It happened, Sanar. I know that it—it was awful, but if you had just let Gantik marry you, you would have been safe. He could have protected you, like he did Nichyn and I."

"Oh, so I brought this on myself, did I?"

Clayra's widened at the tight danger in Sanar's voice. "No, I—I just meant…if you weren't so proud, you might have been able to avoid it."

"Shut the lafit hell up, Clayra."

The blonde's eyes widened painfully before filling with tears. "W-What?"

"The pride of a thirteen-year-old girl would have neither stopped nor spurred on Horaire." Sanar's voice was twisted into something unrecognizable to her sister. "All it meant was that I didn't break."

"Thirteen? But that—" Clayra blinked several times, rapidly. "No. You wouldn't have let him—"

"So we're back to me _let_ting him do whatever he wanted?" The elder snorted derisively. "Oh, come on, sis, why don't you say what you _really_ think: I asked for it, didn't I? Oh, I probably even seduced him, _bewitched_ him. Is this the kind of trash Gantik has been filling your head with?"

"Stop talking about him like that!" Clayra demanded.

Horaire's treatment of Sanar was forgotten for the moment, as Sanar had hoped.

"Why? Someone's obviously been working on you since last I saw you, and Gantik is already in my bad book."

"I thought you two kissed and made up," Clayra grumbled. Still, her mood lightened a little at Sanar's continued displeasure with the man. Perhaps she could get her husband to love her after all.

"Why? Because I haven't killed him yet? He and I have had a little talk, and he's going to physically survive, if only because you have." Sanar did not mention that the "talk" had consisted mostly of Sanar threatening and verbally degrading Gantik in a manner that would have impressed a Sith, if not a certain, sadistic High Priest. She would get to that after Pucijir's Order was destroyed.

"Why is this such a big deal to you?" Clayra wanted to take back the words as soon as they left her mouth. What if she reminded Sanar of Gantik's wonderful, beloved nature, and her big sister pursued him? There would be no hope of Clayra, then.

"Gantik has known from the start that playing with you is the worst sin he could commit in my eyes. Even without considering our…past, I can't forgive him. Ever."

"So you won't go back to him?" Clayra asked hopefully.

"What?" Sanar blinked and straightened on her stool. "'Go ba—' What are you even _talking_ about?"

"Nothing," the younger woman said quickly and with a bit of glee. "Absolutely nothing. Forget I said anything."

"Now, wait a minute—"

"So that tall man and his…his wife?...they don't know this planet or its customs," Clayra babbled. "They're even more dangerous than a Holy Brother in your midst. Leave them here—they only want to be together this soon after their marriage anyway—and Gantik and I will come in their place." Clayra had certainly learned to distract her sister, when the situation called for it.

"I already told you, there isn't a womprat's chance in Corellia's hells that you are coming. And that is _final_."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Or it would have been final, if Clayra wasn't right about Cerasy and Tiran. And if Sanar hadn't had another "Vengeance" dream about the number seven. And if Kyp hadn't agreed with Vengeance about number superstitions.

"She's _your_ sister," Cerasy said defensively when Sanar yelled at her for listening to Clayra. "She'll be fine. Anyway, what did you expect?"

"I am going to _get you_ for this," the Na'Lein woman hissed to the bounty hunter the next day. The group had packed their bags and were preparing to leave for a Resistance safe house. Clayra and Gantik rode with them, despite Sanar's vehement protests.

"Look, Blue, you know Tiran and I would help in a second, but right now we're just walking, talking trouble. At least Miko and Krista have experience with Intel; they'll blend in quickly. Me and Tiran, on the other hand…"

"I'm sure Veras and Krista don't help," Sanar muttered suspiciously.

Cerasy shrugged. "We don't mesh well with the group, it's true. Krista and I have never gotten along well, and Tiran can't think before he talks around Veras. It's just _asking_ for trouble."

"Whatever."

"Sanar, I want to talk to you—"

The dark-haired woman froze out her sister when Clayra approached her with a sulky look on her face. The night before, Clayra and another woman named Brufth, had altered some clothes for Sanar, Krista and Veras. Sanar now fiddled with her head scarf, and turned to Kyp. Both were already on their kaxis, and prepared to leave.

"Do we have everything?" she asked.

He scanned the courtyard, and the leaving party. Kaxis—check. Everyone who was coming, whether Sanar willed it or no—check. Enough food to last them until well after they reached the upcoming Resistance cell headquarters…check. "I think so. Any reason to delay?"

Sanar sighed. "No. Maybe if we leave while the sun's this hot, Gantik and Clayra will give up."

He looked at the sunny, late morning sky. Then he looked back at Sanar. "I don't see it happening. She's a Klis, after all."

"Well, now she's a Whilem, and Gantik's always been a lying coward," Sanar muttered dangerously. "I'm hoping he'll at least fake humanity, and take Clayra back with him."

Kyp called for the others to mount their kaxis. "I thought you didn't want her anywhere near him," he remarked.

"I don't, but I _really_ don't want her around the Jirs. Gantik is the lesser of two evils."

"Well, then, let's hope you're right about him backing out, or we'll be dealing with both evils."

"Maybe I should have another 'talk' with him," she thought out loud. "Step up the terror, a little. I can be pretty scary."

"You aren't lying," Kyp agreed under his breath, just to annoy her. Kicking his kaxi in the sides, he gestured for the others to follow him out of the courtyard, and down the winding path to the south.

"Sanar?" Clayra interrupted in a thready voice. "Ca—can you look at me? Please?"

The older woman turned to look at her sister with impatience. "_Dear_ sister. You wanted to come along. Congratulations: You are. Very unfortunately. Now you get to go introduce yourself to the others so that _they_ can think you're half-way necessary to this fight. You won't get that from me."

Clayra visibly faltered, then regrouped in self-righteous indignation. "I'm extremely valuable."

"Of course you are—just not on this mission."

"You have no idea what I can do." Clayra's eyes blazed; _I can be safe and loved_, they said.

Sanar did not reply. Clayra fell back. Kyp only just checked his impulse to snap something in Sanar's defence. Sanar probably wouldn't appreciate it, especially since Clayra was her little sister.

"I kind of expected you two to get along," he remarked. Sanar probably didn't appreciate _that_, actually.

Sanar glared at him. "We did. Sort of. Then I left because the priests and Holy Brothers would kill her if I didn't, and Gantik did…who knows what to her. She even told me she loves him."

This time, Kyp managed to hold his mouth—for about three seconds. "You don't think she does?"

"She probably _thinks_ she does, but this is Gantik we're talking about. Loving him is just…bad."

"You know, if you'd just let me kill him, I'm sure she'd get over it. Eventually. Maybe. And you'd get the pleasure of watching him get his comeuppance."

"I was thinking, if he's coming, maybe he'll have to deal with his Head Executioner father. If he turns coward and leaves, Clayra will follow him back to relative safety. And then I can kill him—_after_ we overthrow Pucijir's Order. It's a win-win situation."

"You're so confident," he said wistfully.

"And you're usually an arrogant monkey lizard. What gives?" She eyed him curiously.

"Well, this is all kind of…big," he voiced. "What if we lose?"

"You're friends with the Solos, and you weren't imprisoned for Carida. The whole hero thing must have rubbed off on you."

He looked surprised.

"Well," she said uncomfortably. "Plus, you know, if you mess it up, I'll hurt you. Badly."

"Comparing me to Jaina, are you?" he asked, beginning to smirk. This could only be a good thing.

"Only with annoying qualities," she snapped defensively. "This isn't a good comparison."

"If you say so."

"Stop _smirking_!"

"Me?" He held back a laugh, but just barely.

"Ugh! You're so—so an_noying_."

He couldn't stop it; her frustration was too much, and he roared in laughter.

She stared at him; his amusement sounded rich and free over her. It barely seemed to fit with her image of him.

"Wh—" She swallowed, then found her frustration once again. "What is so _funny_?"

"You're just so—" snort "—so _irritated_ with me." His laughter doubled at the look on her face.

"You—just—you—argh!"

Kicking her heels into her mount's belly, Sanar rode a good twenty paces ahead of him. "Jerk!" she yelled back over her shoulder.

"No, wait—Sanar—" He nearly fell of his kaxi in his continued amusement, but managed to spur the animal on. "I was just— Oh, come on, Sanar—"

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"So, Gantik. Why does Sanar hate you so much?" Veras asked. She half-grinned at Braun as they came alongside Clayra's husband.

The dark-haired man glanced at both of them with shrewd eyes. "We were…close, once."

"Already heard that part," Veras dismissed. "Sanar acknowledged your presence for a while, but then all of a sudden she wouldn't even talk about you. Why?"

He hesitated, but it only barely reflected in his expression. "I desired a new level in our relationship. Sanar did not."

The answer made Braun's jaw tighten, and Veras' eyes narrow dangerously. "And what did you do about that?" she demanded in a low voice.

Gantik flinched. "What I tried to do—I have regretted it ever since, more than anything else in my life."

In a blink of an eye, Veras had grabbed a fist of his hair to bare Gantik's throat to her knife. "_Warftha_. Why hasn't she killed you yet, eh? Did you try to make it _her_ fault? Did you make yourself a 'victim' of witchery?"

When he didn't respond fast enough, she tightened her grip. "Give me one good reason why I shouldn't—"

"Veras, stop!" Clayra's shriek stalled any of Veras' further demands. "Leave him alone!"

The dark-haired woman's hold on Gantik's hair lessened only a little. She was all too aware of how desperately Clayra loved her husband. But if Sanar was hesitant to lash out at the Pucijir-lover _waftha_, then Veras could do this for her comrade.

"Does she know what you did?" the dark-haired woman hissed at Gantik.

"I mean it, Veras," Clayra cried. Her voice was pitched high in fear.

"Go ahead," Gantik roughly told Veras. "Sanar's plotting to make her revenge the worst imaginable. This would be letting me off easy."

Finally, the bounty hunter withdrew. "I hope you can't even scream, by the end."

With a last, rude gesture, she and Braun pushed their kaxis ahead. The couple was clearly vexed, although Braun was just as obviously reining in on his temper. Veras looked ready to explode.

Clayra waited until they left before turning her worried expression on Gantik. "Are you alright?" she asked quietly. She reached out as if to touch him, but her hand withdrew at the last second.

"I'm fine," he growled.

She flinched, then lowered her head submissively. Her reaction grated against his already bad mood, and Gantik struggled to keep from snapping at her.

"You're doing it again," she whispered, so softly he almost didn't hear her.

"Doing _what_?"

She swallowed, and risked a quick glance at him. "Wishing I was _her_." He caught sight of a sheen on her blue eyes before she looked away again.

Gantik very deliberately cooled his temper and stored it away for some other time. "Clayra—" He stopped and sighed. What could he say that he hadn't already said a thousand times before? What could he _do_ that he hadn't already done? He had been very clear with Clayra from the beginning of their relationship. He had married her to keep her and Nichyn safe from the priests. At most, he was fond of her—maybe he even loved her, a little—but in any other situation, he would not have acted on it. She had accepted that at the start, had even used the explanation to excuse some of her flirtations and lies.

"I don't want to hear it," she said now, staring straight ahead. Her lips trembled a little. "I know."

He had a sudden image of Sanar skinning him alive. With a sigh, he decided to explain a little. "Whatever Sanar and I were to each other…that's in the past."

She looked back up at him, so fragile and so in love. He almost wished he could lie to her about his feelings, just to make her feel better. Not that coddling her would be to her benefit.

"I just want to know one thing," she told him in a low voice.

"What?"

"Were you and Sanar lovers?" Almost as if it was despite herself, two more questions followed the first in a jumble. "Was it reciprocated, your love? Did you ask her to marry you?"

"No."

Clayra looked slightly relieved, but then he continued.

"No, we weren't lovers. And no, I don't think she ever loved me in return the way I do—_did_ her. But…yes, I did ask her to marry me." _Several times_, he added silently.

"Oh."

Gantik swore under his breath, frustrated by the way she persisted in being hurt. "I've been honest with you from the beginning, Clayra. I don't know what else I can do to make our relationship clear to you."

Her expression begged him to love her. He only looked straight ahead, to where Sanar was talking with the raven-haired man.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"I suppose I should introduce you properly," Sanar grumbled that night.

She scowled at the new couple, where they sat across from her by the fire. Despite her faith in Gantik's cowardliness, the man had not returned to his estate, and Clayra had certainly not followed him. Nearly ten hours later, Sanar was a little more resigned to her sister's presence on the mission.

While the others had made camp that night, Braun had set up a fire. Now, the eight of them sat around the flames, not quite ready to sleep. The fire crackled as Krista prodded it playfully, causing Clayra to jump a little. Kyp looked like he wanted to laugh, but he held back at Sanar's scowl.

"I'm Kyp Durron," the Kavishka introduced himself. If nothing else, he wanted to get the Klis hysterics and his own guilt out of the way. This family's reaction to his name had never been quite what he expected.

This time was no different. Clayra gave him a thin, unaffected smile. "Clayra Whilem."

He blinked. Turning to Sanar for an explanation, Kyp was given only a "_don't even_" look.

Oblivious, Clayra looked at the others expectantly.

"I'm Krista," the blonde to her right said. "This team's resident ex-Intelligence leader. And this is Miko," she continued. She gestured to the red-haired man on her right. "We…work together, or did."

Clayra raised her eyebrows at the idea of a man and woman working together, but she didn't say anything.

At the others' looks, Gantik spoke. "I am Gantik, son of Gru'loq Whilem." He glanced at his wife. "And, as she already informed you, this is Clayra—Whilem," he added. The pause was barely noticeable. "My wife, and Sanar's younger sister."

Clayra smiled politely to hide her wince. _She_ had noticed both the pause and Gantik's inability to see her apart from Sanar. _"And Sanar's younger sister." Right. Just that._

Kyp threw Gantik a thunderous glare. When Sanar elbowed him, the Jedi Master dragged his eyes away. "Sanar explained everything?" he checked. "About the Kavishka prophecy, and all?"

"I remember the story well enough," Clayra replied firmly. "I know that you, Master Durron, are our best chance to defeat Pucijir's Order."

The raven-haired man flinched. "I'm not— I'm just Kyp." He laughed uneasily. "Only Jedi apprentices call me 'Master,' and even then it's only if they're being smart alecks."

"You are going to save my world, milord," Clayra replied. "I just—"

"Clayra," Sanar spoke more sharply than she had intended. "He's _just…Kyp_."

"You always did hate the little things," Clayra muttered disgustedly. She moved as if to stand, but subsided just as quickly.

"The little things?" Sanar repeated incredulously. The colour rose in her cheeks, a sure warning of her temper. The others shifted uncomfortably. "It's the so-called 'little' things that—that destroy us—"

"Get off Father's soapbox," Clayra snapped. The words hung in the air, and Clayra's eyes widened as she realized what she had said, and to whom she had said it.

For a moment, Sanar was at a loss for words. Swallowing, she glanced around the fire. Krista and Miko had averted their eyes. Veras was scowling at Clayra, and Braun was watching his wife. Gantik's eyes rested on Sanar, but his expression remained unreadable.

"I…"

"My _name_, Clayra," Kyp interrupted sharply, "is Kyp Durron. I have earned no title as of yet, and I would not have you brand me with one."

The anger in Kyp's voice made the younger woman flinch, but she pretended to fight just a little more. "It is my choice—"

"I killed your father!" he nearly roared. "There's no choice about it."

The blonde stared, stunned into silence. "W—What?" she finally managed.

The fight seemed to drain out of Kyp. "Over twenty years ago, I was possessed by a Sith Lord, and by my own hatred for the Empire," he explained tonelessly. "I stole the Sun Crusher, and destroyed Carida's sun. It caused a chain reaction, and eventually blew up Carida itself. Your father had been exiled there, and he died that day."

Sanar's eyes dropped from the scene. She wanted to defend Clayra, who couldn't—shouldn't—have known. She wanted to believe that this would mean as much to Clayra as it did to Sanar.

But, seeing the self-loathing in Kyp's eyes as he related what he had done, she almost wanted…

"Sanar?" Gantik's eyes reflected the campfire in their black depths. "Are you all ri—"

Her glare made it abundantly clear that his attention was not desired. Bringing her temper back under control, Sanar told her sister, "Call him Kyp, or Durron, or 'The Kavishka,' for all I care. Just…no 'Master' or whatever. That's not how it is."

Clayra barely seemed to hear her. "He killed Father?" And despite their problems, and despite how much Clayra sometimes resented Sanar, the blonde's eyes pleaded with her big sister for some kind of answer. Some kind of reaction, to be studied and mimicked.

"Carida was the Imperial Academy centre. The Empire never gave up on taking back control…" Absolute, stunned silence came over the others. Sanar didn't look up to see the gaping mouths. The woman, herself, could hardly believe what she was saying. For a second, her eyes darted up to Kyp's, then skittered away again. "It was an act in war, and of revenge. It…" She stopped. There were some things she just could not say.

(_Not yet_, a voice hissed.)

Veras was the first to break the astonished silence. "We'll…uh, we'll head off for the night now," she muttered. Elbowing Gantik painfully in the gut, she stood. Veras glanced at Sanar one last time before she and Braun left the campfire.

Gantik grunted when Veras (not so surreptitiously) kicked him in the side, but took the hint. "We shall retire as well. Goodnight, and fair meetings to you all."

Clayra remained sitting in shock. Frowning, Gantik gently brought his wife to her feet, then led her to their tent. Sanar glared after him.

Miko and Krista made their excuses soon after. Sanar scowled at them all for being so obvious in leaving her with Durron. So she'd…pretty much defended him. So she'd basically said she _forgave_—Larifx, understood!—what he did. That did not mean that she and Durron "needed to talk." It didn't mean _anything_ other than that she was being unexpectedly understanding and selfless and—

And worse: _sincere_.

(_Dammit_, she cursed.

She felt SomeThing—SomeOne?—smirk.)

The brunette stormed over it all behind an iron curtain. She was _Sanar Klis_, kriff it! She didn't just suddenly discover that she'd forgiven somebody for the heinous crime of hurting her. Oh, no, definitely not. Life was short. She intended to "waste" it on bitterness and grudges and revenge and—

(_That's why you stayed with Jaina Solo, I'm sure. And why you need her, your best friend, the hero._

_Lafit you_, she snapped. She mentally blocked the voice out. _I'm not listening! And I only stayed because…she's—she's_ Solo.)

—and selfishness. Except, of course, when it came to her sisters, and her planet, and all. But Sanar was her own lafit person, and she didn't have to forgive anyone, and she certainly wouldn't need to justify it if she _did_.

So when Kyp finally seemed to pull himself out of his stupor, and he opened his mouth to talk to her…

Sanar scrambled to her tent as fast as she could.


	83. Ch16: Safety in Numbers

**Chapter Sixteen: Safety in Numbers  
**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

The beach _looked_ safe. Arelyk and the adult Ryms had already gone ahead with happy chatter. Sunlight spilled from the sky in waves, neither too hot nor too cool. It was perfect for swimming, or so Arelyk had informed him before they left this morning. Humans and aliens alike lined the beach, and played in a light-hearted way Nichyn had not seen before Gallinore. The air was humid, rather unlike NLY, but he was getting used to that.

Nichyn was getting used to a lot of things.

A quiet laugh came from the hovercar's backseat. "All clear, Nichyn?"

He checked himself, then turned to Lera. "I'm—" But he wasn't _really_ sorry, and so he didn't finish his apology. The dark-haired youth had a feeling Lera understood.

A few nights previous, Shanya had told him that they were taking a weekend-long vacation to Verucia and the beach. It was, according to her, a family tradition to go on the long weekend, before the summer crowds arrived. When Lera came over that day, she had assured him that she came too, when she could. That had somehow comforted him. Although he and Lera were not nearly as close as she and Arelyk, there was something reassuring about her presence. They had spent a large part of the past two months together, though usually either Arelyk or Shanya was nearby. The eye he kept out for Lera was no longer habit, but rather out of genuine affection.

Nichyn grabbed his bag from the backseat and stepped away from the door to let Lera out. She slipped out quickly, giving him a quick smile, and slinging her own bag over her shoulder. She had dressed conservatively in jeans cut to her knees, and a soft green T-shirt. Females in comparatively figure-revealing pants were another thing he was slowly becoming accustomed to.

_Well, when it's to Lera's degree_, he added silently as Zuleika hopped out of the hovercar. Contrasting Lera's apparel to an uncomfortable level, his foster sister wore a short wrap-around skirt and a revealing white top. No one else was batting an eye, and considering what he knew of Zuleika, Nichyn had a feeling it was about to get worse.

It did.

"Have fun, kiddies," the redhead sang. Somehow, the words sounded mocking, and Nichyn's expression darkened as Lera rolled her eyes.

The older girl ran ahead of them, her scarlet braid flying behind her. Nichyn watched askance as, upon reaching a group of her friends, Zuleika playfully stripped down to a small two-piece swimming garment.

"Ah, 'Eika," Lera murmured beside him. "Always catching eyes."

He turned back to her. "She's—uh, that is… This is normal behaviour for her?"

"You mean you hadn't figured it out by now?" Lera shrugged and rolled her eyes. "She loves having everyone's attention. After a while, you'll barely even notice." Her brow furrowed a little. "Well, unless she ensnares you... Y-you won't let her, will you?" Almost immediately, she flushed and looked away, as if only then realizing what she'd said.

He raised an eyebrow at the idea, but didn't dignify it with a verbal response. "We'd better catch up with the others," he told her. "Ready?"

Her blush had faded, and she smiled at him. "If you are."

She led him through the crowds to the spot Shanya and Timmis had picked out, then spread her blanket on the ground. He watched with some confusion as she dropped her bag onto the old quilt. The contents of her sack slid a little on the sandy incline to reveal her notebook and a novel.

"Have at," she told him, gesturing to the water when he didn't jump in.

"You aren't— Aren't you coming into the water?" he asked.

Lera sat down on the blanket and kicked her sandals off onto the sand. "I'm not much for swimming," she told him wryly. "I've taken lessons, but I'm just… I don't know. I've got my notebook and the sequel to my favourite book, so I won't get bored. You, however—" she grinned "—look like a swimming person."

He was. His family's country home was right by the water. His earliest recollections of Gantik were of his step-father teaching him to swim. His mother had sat on the beach, smiling happily as "her boys" played and laughed and accidentally swallowed water. Some of his best memories were tied to the beach. But if Lera was going to just sit off to the side… Nichyn cast a protective look around at the crowds. What if…?

"I promise Arelyk doesn't bite," Lera told him. "And Zuleika'll avoid you guys if she actually goes into the water, so you don't have to worry about her."

Nichyn hesitated another moment. Surprisingly, his concern for her safety was fading into the worry that she might be lonely while everyone else was swimming. "Are you sure?" he asked, rather awkwardly. As was the case with many things, Nichyn had adjusted to the gender equality on Gallinore, and even the idea that some here considered women a little superior to men. It was taking more time than he had expected, though.

She blushed, and jammed a hat down on her head. "Yeah. Go on and have fun."

He scanned the water, and almost left before noticing something. "Why don't you come out on the dock? You could read there, but still be around…"

Lera turned her eyes to the pier, then back to her books, before looking up at him. "Well," she said slowly, "I guess I could. I mean, if you really want—"

"I do," he replied without looking at her.

"'K, then." She stuffed her books back into her bag. "Help me with this blanket?"

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Several minutes later, Lera had her blanket lying across the wooden planks of the dock. She sat on the edge with her feet dangling in the water, and her novel in her lap. Her notebook lay to the side, waiting for a moment of inspiration. Arelyk had noticed them, and was swimming in their direction.

Certain she was content, and wanting to bask in the water for a moment before Arelyk arrived, Nichyn dived off the dock. The water was slightly cooler than he had expected, and deep. Arelyk appeared by his side suddenly, and the boy waved. The two teenagers rose to the water at the same time. Some of the water came up with them, and sprayed the girl waiting for one guy to come back out of the water. Nichyn grinned at Lera's surprised laughter at both the splash and the two heads where she'd expected one.

"Hey, you're in the water," Arelyk said in greeting.

Lera used her toe to splash him. "Just my feet. You know I'm not actually coming in."

Nichyn ducked under the water while the two friends bantered about whether or not Arelyk would ever get Lera to come into the water. Although the Na'Lein teenager understood that Lera and Arelyk had years of friendship behind them, he couldn't help but resent the Arelyk's presence a little. He hadn't really connected with his foster brother yet, though they didn't argue. The other boy always struck Nichyn as too contained and unaffected. More than that, however, he knew that Lera much preferred Arelyk's attention and presence than Nichyn's. Again, he understood why, but when Lera was the only person he so far really knew, it wasn't an easy pill to swallow.

"Hey, Nichyn," Arelyk called when the dark-haired teen came up for air. "Race you to that buoy?"

He frowned at the unfamiliar word, but followed Arelyk's pointing finger. Spotting an orange object, he figured he knew the destination. It was well within his ability to swim that far, though he would have to manoeuvre around the other beings in the water. "Very well. On…four?" he hazarded a guess. Numbers were not his specialty, although he could rattle them off until the Basic translation for cenzo (a hundred?).

"On three," Lera corrected him. "I'll call it. One—two—_three_!"

Both took off.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Lera turned back to her novel as Nichyn and Arelyk raced off. She hadn't had time to start it, but she wasn't about to complain. The time she could have been reading had been channelled into her current story. After the creation of the new character, some weeks ago, the writing had been going much more smoothly, and she'd enjoyed making Saja's relationship with Lacane as complicated and real as possible.

Unfortunately, she'd have to change more than a few things for Jolesp's next adaptation screenplay. Hasi would pull off Saja's flaws and troubled past beautifully, even if she drove Lera insane at every other time during the filmmaking process. It was Zuleika, however, who could be a problem. The redhead was talented, no doubt, but she played her own role the best. As it was, Lera was having a difficult time seeing Zuleika as Lacane, the heroic half of the story's strange friendship. The relationship between the two women was her favourite part, but she didn't want to see Zuleika mutilate it. She'd have to untangle that part enough to make it work.

_Well_, she thought, _at least I'll have the actual novel. It's not like Jolesp is going to sell any of his—_

Her thoughts were interrupted when a party of rowdy older boys raced each other down the dock. Her eyes widening, Lera put her book down and half-stood to get out of the way.

She wasn't quick enough.

Lera had been somewhat hidden behind a support, and the boys didn't even see her before they barrelled right past her. She lost her balance and got elbowed in the face before she could blink.

The water came as a cold shock, especially after Arelyk's insistence that it was "so warm you could barely tell it wasn't already January." But then, she had never adjusted well to new temperatures. Unfortunately, the water couldn't startle her enough. She'd banged her head on something other than just an elbow, and her vision was blurry, and her body sluggish. The water became deep quickly on this beach, and she could barely see the sun anymore.

_Hold on, Lerasina! Kick your legs!_

She made out an almost-image—almost a man's face—in the patterns under the water—

And then it seemed to…get even…darker…

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Nichyn hit the buoy after one last, hard stroke, then came up for air. Arelyk was still a few feet away from him, and Nichyn squinted to look back for Lera. He was just in time to see a group of young men push her over the edge. Horrified, Nichyn swam back as fast as he could.

_Hold on, Lera_.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_Devnos panicked._

_Actually, he'd left "panicked" behind several seconds ago. Seconds ago, when he had failed to mentally prod Lerasina awake. All the repetitions of "Kick to surface!" and "Hold on, Nichyn's coming!" couldn't bring consciousness._

_Now her oxygen level was falling drastically, and water was beginning to drown her lungs. Devnos threw about for any idea—just to help her hold on for a little while longer—Nichyn was almost there—_

_The idea that came wasn't one he'd normally use, but he was desperate._

_Devnos entered Lera's mind for the second time, though this time it was much deeper penetration than was needed for "inspiration." Lerasina's mind startled from the intrusion for a moment, but he ignored that. As long as he didn't take it too far, she'd be safe. And as a non-Jedi, Lerasina would never even notice what he'd done._

_Moving quickly, he blew out hard through Lerasina's (his) mouth, jettisoning the water, then sealed her (his) lips. Next he coaxed her (his) legs to kick—just enough, closer to Nichyn._

_Then Nichyn grabbed Lera by the waist, and Devnos retreated as if he had been stung._

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Shanya had trained, however briefly, next to a huge jungle river with a powerful current. Navigating through groups of people while in calm lake water was not difficult, even from the other side of the beach. Still, Nichyn—with a stranger's help—had Lera up on the dock a minute before the Jedi Knight arrived.

Pulling herself up onto the dock, Shanya took in Lera's appearance. She wasn't breathing, despite Nichyn's awkward attempts to revive her. Carefully but urgently, she pressed the strange boy away and began performing CPR for Lera. Despite her experience in doing so, Shanya could barely stand the wait. Everything had slowed down from the moment she felt the danger. Nothing mattered except the simple, all-important task of getting Lera breathing again. Arelyk and Nichyn's fear, broadcasted strongly especially loudly by the latter without training, had to be ignored until later.

Finally—_finally_—Lera coughed, and Shanya turned the girl to the side so she could spit out the water. _Then_ sound rushed back, and Arelyk and Nichyn's relief/fear could overwhelm her, and Shanya could sag in her own relief.

_She is going to be alright_. Shanya wouldn't have to explain to Hallis and Jimut that their beloved daughter, and their only reason to try and fix their marriage, was dead. She wouldn't have to look her son in the eyes, and hold him tight as he realized how deep pain could strike. She wouldn't have to look down at Lera's blank, so blank, expression, and sob in the night for her girl (_her daughter, hers, no matter genetics_) and all the stories she never told and—

It was going to be alright.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Nichyn and Arelyk—even Shanya and Timmis, to some degree—hovered for the rest of the day. Especially Nichyn.

Lera didn't mind overmuch; she hugged back when Arelyk held her tight and she tried to be reassuring when Nichyn kept looking at her as if she'd disappear. She obediently ate as much as she could when Shanya ordered pots of soup and hot chocolate and even some hot desserts. She accepted Timmis' sandy towel, and let him bandage her head wound. When Zuleika pushed them into her arms, Lera even wore Zuleika's silky pyjamas and expensive, plush robe; sometimes, the older girl acted human. Lera didn't want to discourage it.

She couldn't stop shivering.

Ever since falling into that black, cold water, she had been so _cold_. Soup and blankets hadn't fixed it, though Shanya's hugs had helped. In a way, the others' hovering made things warmer, too.

But something felt different—terror, stark and brutal, had made a mark on her when she had thought she was dead. _Dead meat_.

Zuleika actually offered to stay with Lera in her hotel room that night. Of course, she might have been just hoping to stay in the upgraded room. Lera's parents, upon hearing about her near-drowning, had paid extra, and were going to be there the next day.

She wondered if her mother really approved of spending the extra money. This wasn't, after all, something money could fix.

(She wondered if her parents would be the happy, loving couple when they came, or if they would argue. But Lera didn't want to think about that, so she shut it down quickly.)

Eventually, everyone went to their own rooms. Even Nichyn, who seemed to want to stay right outside her hotel room and make sure nothing else happened.

Lera tried to write, but nothing came. When she finally put her writing datapad to the side, it was late, and she had only a choppy paragraph and a headache to show for her effort.

The bed did not seem appealing—

(_dark, so dark, and alone, and cold_)

—and she considered agreeing to share the room with Zuleika. For half a second, at least.

Despite her apprehension, Lera turned the heat up and climbed under her bed covers. She curled into a ball at the headboard and waited tensely for it to get better.

(_Dark and cold and alone_.)

It took forever, and an activated glow-ball by her bed, to fall asleep. It was only then that she remembered something strange that had happened under the water. The moment before she had blacked out, there had been a…_voice_ in but out of her head.

_Hold on, Lerasina! Kick your legs!_

It hadn't been Shanya or Arelyk, although Lera recognized the voice as coming through the Force. During the war, Lera had been recognized as a friend of the Rym Jedi, and several Jedi had used their mindVoice to warn her of trouble, or to get her out of the way. She couldn't respond, but when a Force-sensitive yelled loud enough, and with enough focus, she had learned to listen.

It had only happened to her a few times of import, but it had always been someone she knew well. Aarylia, who had frequently baby-sat Lera and Arelyk; Tiran Lee-droy, Aarylia's master; and, of course, the Rym family. Each one's voice had been uniquely _them_; not necessarily their speaking voice, but a true part of the being themselves.

This time, however, the voice had been unrecognizable. Someone she didn't know had spoken into her mind, and for a second she had almost seen a face in the water. Lera should have been doubting her sanity. Maybe she should have felt terrified, because someone—someone she _didn't know_—had been in her head, and could have seen more than she let anyone know existed.

But, somehow, it hadn't felt like an invasion, and Lera did not doubt what she had seen. Whoever had been in the water with her, he had felt…safe.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

When Shanya made them leave, Nichyn followed Arelyk out of Lera's room. He didn't like it—Lera still seemed to be in shock, and she hadn't stopped shivering since she came out of the water. Still, he knew Shanya cared about Lera, and he (mostly) trusted her with his friend's welfare.

_He didn't think about how it felt, pulling Lera out of the water only to realize she wasn't breathing. He didn't think about how it felt to suddenly realize that he really cared about Lera and that she might die. He didn't._

"You can have the bed," Arelyk said in the boys' room. The sandy-haired boy still looked pale and tense. Nichyn had been seriously affected after knowing Lera for two months. He could only guess how Arelyk—who had been best friends with Lera since before their memories began—was feeling. "I'm gonna… I need to meditate tonight. Stay up how…uh, however long you like—I'll be completely out of it."

Like most of the Ryms' expressions, Nichyn didn't quite catch the last words, but he understood the meaning. "See you in the morning, then," Nichyn muttered before locking himself in the 'fresher.

Sanar had given Nichyn a com-link before leaving him at the Ryms'. A piece of flimsi had been tied around it with scrawled instructions. She had fixed up a lower-grade com-link for him to communicate with, hopefully, his family. Someone she knew had "fixed it up," and she would try to get it to his parents. If she couldn't reach them in time, he could then communicate with her. It didn't have visual or even direct back-and-forth contact, but he could send letters or any kind of file on a data chip. Nichyn had refrained from using it until now—he didn't want the disappointment of finding out it didn't work.

Tonight, though, he wanted _some_ kind of communication with his family. Even failed communication would be something. He'd have to hope that his aunt had secured a clean line, and had raised the power levels. If not, at least he'd know.

_Today he almost lost a friend he barely realized he had_.

He scribbled a quick, satisfyingly vague but reassuring letter on the data chip he'd grabbed from his bag. At the end, he left only his initials—_N. W._ If the Holy Brothers or one of their lackeys intercepted it, at least…

Well, hopefully, his parents had successfully dropped out of sight. If they had managed that, then _they_ would be safe….

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_He thought it at some point after making sure Lerasina was okay. Maybe…an hour or two after._

_It took many more hours after that for Devnos to acknowledge that it had come from_ his _mind._

_Lerasina was a child—in every meaning of the word. She had lived during a war, but had remained relatively untouched by it. She was absolutely innocent—he barely knew her, but he knew that._

_Yet…_

_He had taken Prophecy's dirty linen to his grave. He had not been able to warn anyone of their secrets, and Vengeance and Prophecy had cut off all of his options. Jaina Solo, Sanar, even Kyp Durron and Zekk…adult strangers on the street… He could reach none of them. The people who would understand that life is enormously unfair, who would believe him because they had_ seen _such things occur, were completely unaffected by his attempts._

_But not Lerasina._

_Somehow, Lerasina was able to both hear him and respond to him. Somehow, when every person who made sense could not, she might be able to…_

_What, contact Sanar out of the blue and tell her…?_

_(_Nichyn has a com-link that connects with one in Sanar's possession_.)_

_But—even so—_

_(_And Mrs. Rym is a Jedi—perhaps, using that connection, Lerasina could contact Jaina Solo, who could tell Sanar…._)_

_Expose an innocent to Prophecy? Just on the slim, nearly insignificant chance that Sanar might be saved?_

_Sanar, saved._

_(_What wouldn't you give for Sanar's well-being? What _wouldn't_ you sacrifice?_)_

_(_Lerasina would probably agree, if you asked her…_)_

_She would. If he explained everything, told her—about what could happen, if Sanar wasn't somehow warned, if she wasn't somehow swayed away from Prophecy's plan—_

_But would she_ understand_? Would there be unforeseen consequences if she agreed that she wouldn't think of? Devnos, himself, could not think of any. Prophecy was ruthless, but what would going after Lerasina do for Its cause? Nothing, and It would realize that._

_Prophecy would leave her alone._

_Vengeance, on the other hand, would not be involved at all. The Sildar and Vengeance knew not what they had set into motion, although It probably wouldn't care._

_Vengeance, too, would leave her alone._

_What else? _Anything_ else?_

_Devnos took advantage of his superfluous time and wracked his brains for any repercussion that might befall Lerasina, but could think of none._

_Even so, he hesitated. What _if_?_


	84. Interlude: Let Me Go

Inevitably, while writing a novel, there are a few scenes that demand to be written but...don't quite fit with the actual novel, or aren't long enough for a chapter. Ta da: this part. It's also the second post today, so if you haven't read Chapter Sixteen, click back ;)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

**Interlude: Let Me Go**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_And no matter how hard I try  
I can't escape these things inside  
I know, I know  
But all the pieces fall apart  
You will be the only one who knows, who knows_

_You love me but you don't know who I am  
I'm torn between this life I lead and where I stand  
And you love me but you don't know who I am  
So let me go, just let me go_

-"Let Me Go" by 3 Doors Down

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

After kicking the ground furiously, Sanar landed on her sleeping pad. It had been yet another long day. Another day of watching Clayra fawn over Gantik, and glare mistrustfully at Sanar. Another day of avoiding Durron, and putting off talking to him about her little confession over the campfire.

When Sanar didn't know what to do, or what she was feeling, she tended to get ticked off. Actually, that was her reaction to pretty much anything she didn't like—get good and angry, and take it out on everyone around her. She had found the method pretty handy, her life considering.

In this scenario, unfortunately, she had no idea _who_ she was supposed to be most mad at.

Was it Gantik, for being a contemptible, backstabbing warftha?

Durron, for being the Kavishka—_her_ hero—and for being from _her_ story—the one she fell in love with—and for being…well, irritating in the way only Durron could be?

Jaina, for getting her involved in the hero lifestyle, even though she _wasn't_ a hero?

Cerasy, for staying at "the Whilem's" estate, and letting Clayra come?

Or Cl—

No, she couldn't be mad at Clayra. She couldn't. Could she? Clayra was her little sister; Sanar had to protect her, no matter what. And she _did_. That was how it had always been, how it _should_ be…

_Whatcha up to?_

Sanar jumped. She actually looked around for a second before turning inward. _Stangit, Solo_. But she couldn't help some of the relief/warmth she felt. _How many times have I told you—_

_Not to do this?_ Jaina seemed to sigh. _About a million. But I needed to get you to stop your steaming before you did something you'd regret._

_I don't regret anything_, Sanar snapped moodily.

_Whatever you say_.

Frowning, Sanar reached out to her sister through their link. _Jaina? What's wrong?_

Another sigh, but this time followed by a wry chuckle. _Oh, nothing, I'm sure. I'm just…_ Again, deep sigh.

Now, Sanar was getting worried. _Nothing, Larifx_. She would have pushed it, despite the hypocrisy of her getting someone to spill emotionally. However, there was something in Jaina's voice… _How did Zekk's trial go?_

_Oh, it—it went well. Better than expected, even._ Jaina's mood lifted some, reassuringly. _The jury took into consideration everything he did with the war, so he isn't in jail, or de— Well, you know._

Sanar's eyebrow rose, but she sent Jaina a happy nudge. _So, he's off scott-free?_

_Not…exactly_. Annoyance. "Despite the defendant's role in the downfall of his Empire, the crimes he committed cannot be overlooked." Jaina snorted derisively. _"The crimes he committed." It was_ Onyx, _not Zekk_.

Jaina's sister had learned long ago not to talk about shades of grey when it came to Zekk. _So…what did they sentence him to?_

_He's on probation—any contact with Imperial leaders and he'll wind up in jail. That was expected. But he has to work for Intelligence either until his sixty-seventh birthday, or until a lawyer successfully appeals and shortens the sentence. Basically, Intel owns him. We're on his first mission right now._

_We?_

_Yeah_. Jaina's voice turned sour. _I thought I'd surprise him and arrange for my addition to his mission. I know some people in Intel, and they got me in. It's actually a rather disturbing case. You see, there has been evidence of a non-Imperial movement on the Outer Rim, and—_

_Great, and why are you so upset?_ Sanar demanded shrewdly.

_Well, uh…_ Jaina mumbled something that sounded like _Pita isn tum._

_Speak up, kriff it._

_Big_ sigh. Yeah, something was up, and Sanar suspected she had found the root of it.

_Perdita_ _received the same sentence as Zekk. Her crimes weren't as bad, so her sentence isn't as long. But they're going to be working together for the next fifteen years without interference. She's on the mission ship now_.

Perhaps, Sanar thought, she should have had a little chat with this Perdita gal before she left. Not that she really thought Jaina would run into relationship problems. _What else?_

Silence.

_Jaina?_

When the younger woman spoke, it was grudging in the extreme. _I'm too well-known to be undercover for this mission. Zekk and Perdita are posing as a married couple. And I don't think either of them really minds—especially Perdita._

_Niftyax._

_Sanar_, Jaina chided half-heartedly. _She can't help it, right? Look, I know. It's not…it's_ far _from relationship threatening. Zekk is still the same, and it's not like they ever act like a honeymooning couple in front of me or anything. It'll be fine. I just… It's_ frustrating_. And I think Zekk…_

_The guy practically worships you. I mean, you saved him from the Dark side. You think he's going to leave you after_ that_?_

Jaina's voice quieted. _She brought that up once, actually_. Before her sister could follow up on that piece of information, Jaina spoke again. _Sanar, I can't expect him to love me just because I died for him, can I? That's not how love is. What if…_

_Nuh-uh. No "what if's."_ Sanar's voice was firm. _You and Zekk are the real thing. You guys wouldn't make me sick if you weren't._

_You're right_. Despite her words, Jaina didn't sound like she really believed Sanar. _Quesack told me the same thing—well, kind of. He told me I should trust Zekk. You're both right. It's just…_

_Just what? And since when is talking to you like pulling teeth?_

Jaina laughed a little. _Sorry_. She ignored the first question.

Sanar waited for more, but none came. _Who's Quesack? Your retaliatory date to the prom?_

_Now there's a picture. Quesack is about forty years older than me. Even if I_ was _childish enough to start playing games, and even if I was attracted to Quesack—he's devoted to his late wife's memory. So, really not. I think you'd like him, though._

_Look, I may have put up with some questionable things, but I'm really not into guys who are that much older. Especially if you actually consider this guy some kind of mentor, which I figure you do._

_Oh, honestly, Sanar. Does everything come back to that kind of thing for you? I mean, he's a really great person. He…he kind of reminds me of Daddy._

Sanar's breath came quick. _I assume you mean Daddy, and not Dad Solo?_

_I did. He's… I'll introduce you when you get back. Having him on the mission—I've really appreciated it. I just have your memories of Daddy, but…_

_Okay, I'll meet him, if you think he's that great_, Sanar interrupted.

Desperate for a new topic, Sanar told the other, _Clayra kinda brought herself along on the trip._

_WHAT?_ Jaina shrieked. Doesn't _she know how dangerous it is? Who the lafit is her husband, and why isn't he for once using his power for good and making her stay home?_

_I_ know, Sanar grumbled. _That's what I told her! And HIM._

_Who is the warftha, anyway? Who'd the priests make her marry? I don't care what Braun and Veras said about him caring about her, I swear, when I get my hands on him—_

_It's Gantik._

Dead silence stretched for several, long minutes.

_You know, you're taking this a lot better than I did._

_My furniture wouldn't agree with you_, Jaina snarled back. _And neither will Gantik, when I find him._

_I have first dibs, Solo._

_Well, leave me a scrap. An organ, even. I'll curse him through to the_ wrong _side of the River. Maybe escort him over to Kip. Or_ Devnos_. I bet he could do something about the warftha—if there's anything left of him, when we're through with that—that—_

_Clayra's all convinced she's in love with him_, Sanar groused. _She actually asked me if I was going to "go back to him." She even warned me about speaking badly of her husband. _ Warned _me!_

_Does she know what he did?_ Jaina demanded. _'Cause if she does, and this is her reaction, I'm thinking disinheritance. And in a definitive kind of way._

_I have no idea if she knows. She keeps talking about our "past," but—Jay, she wouldn't… If Clayra really knew, she wouldn't love him. It's… She couldn't. Right?_

_Of course not. _ Sanar almost felt Jaina's tight embrace, and she returned the sensation gratefully. _Of course she couldn't. What he did… What he's_ doing… _Have you figured out what kind of game he's playing?_

_No, but I will._

_What's his excuse?_

_Something lame, like he was "just trying to protect Clayra for me." He even tried to tell me he really cares about her and Nichyn._

_Oh, please_, Jaina said, unimpressed.

_That's what I said. I can't really start in on him until after we finish our mission, though—if only to keep up appearances, he'll look out for Clayra a little. Besides, at the moment she's convinced she's in love with him. She'd probably put up a bit of a protest if I tortured him._

_She can be funny that way_, Jaina agreed, with just a little irony.

_So_, she continued. _How much longer do you think you'll be, with the prophecy?_

_Well, it appears we've got two other players on the field—these weird ladies who call themselves "Vengeance," and the Sildar._

_Um…the Sildar?_

_Yeah. It may or may not actually_ be _Vengeance. I don't know. It's all…weird._

_When have our lives been anything_ but _weird?_

Sanar laughed, almost despite herself. _True. At least we'll never be able to say our lives are bor—_

At her feet, her bag mumbled something. She stared at for a moment. _One minute, Solo. I'm hearing voices._

_Oh?_ Jaina asked curiously. _What are they saying?_

_It's probably something about perfect-life people who somehow still manage to have jealousy problems_, Sanar muttered. She opened the bag, and quickly rifled through. When she realized what was making the sound, she cursed.

_What is it?_

_That com-link I gave Nichyn… Larifx. I'll be right back—I'm going to give it to Clayra. Give me a few minutes?_

Jaina laughed. _Sanar. I'm_ always _here. Where would I go, especially in a few minutes?_

Sanar would never admit that she took that confession and savoured it whenever things got hard afterwards. She only said, _Okay, then_, and headed for Clayra and Gantik's tent.

She found Clayra just outside of it, cooking the group's meal. "Dinner won't be ready for a while yet," she told Sanar flatly. "You'll have to wait. Just like everyone else."

Ignoring the coldness—Clayra _couldn't_ know—Sanar held out the specially modified com-link. "When I left Nichyn with his foster family, I gave him a one of these, to contact me."

Clayra took the device with an expression of dawning joy. "Can I—"

"You won't be able to talk to him. It…the com doesn't have enough power. Jaina fixed it so it could penetrate the atmosphere, though. You can send letters and such, back and forth. You just need a datachip."

"_Thank you_." Impulsively, Clayra stood and hugged her sister tightly. "Nichyn means… Well, more than you can imagine to me."

Sanar flinched at the implication that she couldn't love someone, but didn't respond.

Clayra was walking away, apparently convinced that she could figure out the com-link. Just before she stepped into her tent—and probably to Gantik—Sanar spoke.

"Cl—Clayra?"

The girl paused, but didn't turn around.

"What did Gantik tell you, about the two of us?"

But Clayra stepped through the tent, ignoring her sister.

Obviously, _she_ had moved on. Why couldn't Sanar?

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

It was with considerable satisfaction that Kyp finally managed to get on Gantik on his own. Sanar had been almost jealous of her monopoly on Gantik damage. Somehow, she'd managed to keep an eye on the Sith kriffer, while still avoiding both of them.

Kyp would let Sanar stew for a while—he wasn't particularly suicidal, especially after her confessed forgiveness. Gantik, however, had gone too long without a warning. As the Kavishka, Kyp figured it was his…responsibility…to enlighten Gantik on a few subjects. If Prophecy hadn't covered it in the Kavishka Manual, however, it would be his _personal_ pleasure to go out of his way to do so.

Sort of the way he got pleasure out of seeing Gantik _jump_ like that. He doubted many animals could get that much height. "Evening, Whilem," he said calmly. As if he didn't plan to scare the living daylights out of the other man.

"Larifx, if you can't startle a person," Gantik replied, almost casually. Only the wariness in his eyes betrayed him. "That part of the whole Kavishka thing?"

"I grew up as a slave in the Kessel mines," Kyp told him. "I know how to be quiet, when need be."

"The Kessel mines? I assume those were difficult living conditions."

Kyp wasn't here to talk about his adolescence. "Sanar has already claimed your life as hers, and I'm not yet at the point where I want to deny her revenge. So, you're going to survive this encounter."

Gantik's eyes turned flinty as he stood. "How gracious of you."

"If you only knew what I would do, otherwise," Kyp said coldly. "Going strictly by Prophecy, you should be dying on the Sildar right now."

"I'm not scared of someone who makes up fancy names for their sword."

In a fluid movement, Kyp's hand was around Gantik's throat. He slowly let the sliding metal's scrape grate on the others' nerves as the Kavishka unsheathed the Sildar and levelled it across Gantik's neck. "Are you sure?" he asked. His eyes lit predatorily, and the other realized—Sanar or no—Kyp would slit his throat without a further thought.

Gantik dropped his eyes in submission.

"That's what I thought." The Sildar only missed nicking Gantik's throat by a hair's breath, but Kyp withdrew. "Stay away from her, Whilem. Or you'll find out just how painful Vengeance can be."

Kyp had almost walked away when Gantik gathered himself enough to speak.

"Exacting vengeance on me won't make her love you."

The Kavishka never turned around. "I never expected it to," he replied placidly. "Unlike some, I don't demand that I be loved in return."

In his palm, in a second so brief Kyp thought he imagined it, the Sildar burned white hot.


	85. Ch17: Compromises

**Chapter Seventeen: Compromises**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Nichyn answered Lera's smile with his own as he passed her in the hallway. "Hello, Lera. I didn't expect to see you back so soon."

As usual, Lera had spent much of the day with Shanya and Nichyn. She talked with the former and had taken to helping the latter with some of his academics. Not long after Arelyk returned from school, however, she had left to help her mother prepare dinner. And since then, Nichyn had watched with some interest as Arelyk threw a rare, explosive fit of temper.

"Yeah, well, the food's in the oven," Lera said now. "Actually, I thought I'd invite you and Arelyk over for dinner. My parents wanted t-to thank you f-for, um—you know." Over a week after her near-drowning, Lera still wouldn't talk about it. "Plus, th-they've only really met you that one time."

Nichyn was quick to notice that Arelyk had also been invited. "I think Arelyk's 'grounded'. That is the correct term, right?"

Lera nodded at his word usage, but then frowned. "What? Why?"

He gestured for her to follow him to the kitchen. "He got…upset earlier. He yelled and threw things around—with his mind. Shanya said he 'won't be leaving this house for a week.' I assume she will remain firm in her punishment."

"D-do you know what got him so upset?" She glanced up at the ceiling, as if she could see into Arelyk's room. By her increased stutter, it seemed she had a dawning idea.

"I believe it had something to do with…" Nichyn decided to lie when he saw Lera's guarded expression. "That is, with final exams." Well, they _had_ come up. Arelyk had been studying underwater lifeforms for his science exam when he exploded.

"H-he isn't exactly a scholar," she agreed, almost weakly.

"So I gathered." Especially when it came to being reminded about how his best friend almost died.

"Well," she said, "i-if he actually used the Force to throw stuff, there's no way Shanya will let him come over. She's—she's big on self-control." Lera's expression sank briefly before she looked back at him. "Well, do _you_ want to come, then?"

"Well…" Yes. But did she really want him there?

"I promise neither Mom nor I are horrible cooks," Lera quickly told him. He didn't know why she'd assume otherwise. "I mean, Dad does it most of the time, but we can make good pasta. Really. Y-you can't burn pasta."

"If you're sure…"

"Of course I am." Lera grinned as her hesitancy left. "I think you'll like my dad. He's a big advocate of men's rights here in Crala. You could talk to him about NLY." For a second, she froze, as if just remembering something. "But…m-maybe you shouldn't. I—I mean…I d-don't know if—uh, if—"

"That's all right. I will… I'm sure there will be other topics for discussion."

Lera smiled, relieved. "Okay. I just—um. Dinner's in half an hour. Why don't you tell Shanya you're coming over to my house tonight? We can walk over together, then."

"Do you want me to ask her if she'll let Arelyk off the hook?"

The girl seemed to think about it for a moment before she shook her head. "Nah." She smiled. "Tonight can be your night. Arelyk's probably eaten enough Verili pasta for a while."

He nodded before walking away. When she couldn't see, his smile grew.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Dinner did not go well—by any measure.

As soon as Nichyn walked through the door, he knew he'd stumbled upon the explanation of Shanya and Timmis' shared looks. The reason Zuleika always dramatically rolled her eyes when Lera spoke excitedly about her parents.

Hallis and Jamut Verili did not act like Timmis and Shanya. Jamut had, apparently, arrived "late" for supper. Hallis sniped at him, and used the dinner as an excuse. Jamut rolled his eyes, and told his wife to "play nice with the guests." Although they managed from that point on to keep up a civilized veneer, the air was charged with words unsaid.

Lera looked torn between apologizing, crying, and running off.

The conversation between husband and wife was terse; the overall atmosphere unbearably tense. Lera tried to start up conversation a few times, but after repeated failure, she sank into her chair. On her plate, food was pushed around but remained uneaten.

Nichyn wished he knew an appropriate excuse for leaving the table. He wished he knew how to say _anything_ that wouldn't cause more trouble. He wanted to get away from the lafit dinner, and he wanted Lera's parents to stop making her miserable. He accepted and ate the dessert only because he didn't want to see the silent bragging in Jamut's eyes.

Escape finally came, but not for Lera. "I-I'd better s-stay and c-cl-clean up," she told him. Her face flushed scarlet, and she wouldn't look him in the eye. "I-I'm s-so s-so-sorry a-about this, I-I really… Th-they p-promised…"

Their conversation was interrupted by Hallis and Jamut's yelling, and Lera flinched. "I-I'll see you t-tomorrow," she muttered. Barely waiting for his reply, she closed the door in his face.

That had been two hours ago.

The yelling had escalated, and Shanya and Timmis had given up on their surreptitious glances. They now watched intently from the side window, a deep frown marking both of their faces. Nearby, Arelyk sat on the floor. He was pretending to play a card game, but he hadn't flipped a card in fifteen minutes. No one called him on it. Certainly, Nichyn was too tense to make a remark.

Finally, a door slammed violently, and Nichyn heard a speeder roar into the distance. The following quiet was marked by the argument, but slowly the Rym parents moved away from the windows. Only the rain broke the silence.

"They do this a lot," Arelyk explained after a moment. "Fight, then eventually make up and pretend it's okay. Lera'll be… It's over, for now."

"They wouldn't—they don't involve her in their fight, do they?" Nichyn asked. It had been one of his more prominent fears.

"Physically? No. They'd never lay a hand on her." The sandy-haired boy regarded Nichyn solemnly. "_Never_. I don't know what it was like, on your planet, but—Lera's parents love her. They just can't stand each other, sometimes. A lot of sometimes."

"She shouldn't have to—"

"Why do you think she's over here so much?" Arelyk interrupted. "Besides the fact that Mom, you, and I are here, I mean. She likes it here. Mom and Dad love her like their own, too."

Nichyn sat across from Arelyk on the floor.

"She'll be here a lot more, now." His foster brother looked down at the cards. "Give her some time to get herself together before you go see her—she won't thank you for walking in on her crying. I'd go, but…she knows she can always come to me."

"And you're grounded."

Arelyk frowned. "Do you think I wouldn't be out there in a second, if I thought she needed me? We've done this many times before, Nichyn. She'll come."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Despite Arelyk's assurances, Nichyn waited just under an hour before he left to find Lera. Arelyk may have done this before, but _he_ hadn't. Nichyn wasn't about to just assume Lera was alright. Maybe in a few years, when he knew her better, but not yet. When he realized where Nichyn was going, Arelyk had simply told him to invite Lera back to watch some holo-net.

Nichyn planned to knock on the front door and then enter whether or not someone answered the door. In this case, however, it wasn't necessary. Lera stood in her front lawn and in the rain. She must have changed since he left the house, because she wore lounge pants and a t-shirt. Neither clothing article had saved her from being soaked to the bone.

Nichyn approached her carefully, but with growing concern as he took in her appearance.

"Lera? What are you—"

She rubbed her arms numbly, but didn't look at him. "They both left," she told him, almost under her breath.

"Your parents?"

She nodded and closed her eyes. Her soaked hair strung around her neck and made wet marks on her camisole.

"What happened?"

"They fought." Sighing, Lera looked up at him. "But you probably heard that. Dad took the speeder and raced off at twice the speed limit. Mom strode out of the house a few minutes later."

"And now?" He pointedly looked at her drenched appearance. "How long have you been out here?"

She frowned. "Since a little after they left. A…half an hour, maybe?"

Nichyn ran a hand over his face, and realized that already he was nearly as wet as her. "Lera…"

"I'm waiting for them." Her teeth chattered. "I'm not going inside until they come back."

"Alright." He took off his jacket and said, "Take this. You're freezing." His shirt offered minimal protection, but Nichyn was used to poor weather. Gallinore could not even conceive the strength of a Na'Lein storm.

She looked at the sweater for a long moment before taking it hesitantly. "I'm waiting," she insisted.

"So am I." He helped her pull on the sweater, taking her wet hair out of the neck. The cotton would get drenched quickly, but at least her arms were covered.

"What for?" she asked, staring out at the road.

"For you. For everything," he added.

Her frown lessened briefly. "Then you can stay."

He breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you."

Another thirty minutes passed before Arelyk ran out, a parka protecting him from most of the rain. "What are you guys doing?" he called as he stopped in front of them. "Lera, you look like you just—" He stopped before he said _drowned_. "You're soaking wet." Glancing up at Nichyn, he added, "And you don't look a whole lot better."

"I'm waiting," Lera whispered through chattering teeth.

Arelyk's expression softened, became more tentative. "I heard your parents, Ler. I'm sorry."

"They left." As she spoke, Nichyn noticed that her lips were turning a little blue.

"Come on inside, then," Arelyk said, taking her by the arm. "We'll get you warmed up, and you can wait by the fire. You don't look so good."

She jerked her arm back. "I don't _feel_ so good, either, Arelyk."

Arelyk shot Nichyn an annoyed look. Well, as annoyed a look as ever Arelyk gave. "Aren't you going to help?" he asked. Under his breath, he added, "She can't stay out here. She'll get sick or something."

The dark-haired teen stared at him. "Didn't you hear her? We're waiting."

"The cold's gotten you, too?" Arelyk shook his head. "You can wait inside. There's nothing wrong with the dry inside."

Lera stared down the road, through the rain, searching. Nichyn looked at her feet and saw that the puddles had soaked her feet, and he worried.

"I'm waiting," she whispered, lips trembling.

"I'm not leaving her," Nichyn warned his foster brother.

Arelyk looked to the clouds. "This is going to turn into a storm, though."

Nichyn scowled at him. "Go back inside, Arelyk. She isn't leaving until her parents get back."

The blond fought internally, but he recognized the stubbornness in Nichyn's stance and the desperation in Lera's. "She can't stand around in the rain for much longer, Nichyn. Not in what she's wearing."

Lera wrapped her arms around herself, but she didn't speak.

"I'll take care of her," Nichyn told the other teen. "Na'Lein storms are worse than this. Get back inside."

Obeying, Arelyk made it very obvious that he was reluctant, glancing back every step. Nichyn ignored him.

"It's…cleansing," Lera muttered. "The rain."

"It is." Nichyn looked up at the sky. "But you don't need it," he added softly. If she heard him, she didn't reply, but only shivered. Stepping closer, he rubbed her arms firmly, trying to make sure she stayed warm.

She dropped her arms and leaned back, just a little.

As Arelyk had predicted, the rain turned into a storm. Nichyn kept an eye and ear out for the thunder and lightning. When the storm got too close, he knew they would have to leave, waiting or not.

Lera whispered a count under breath between lightning and thunder. When she counted only to three, she sniffled, sobbed, and turned around, throwing her arms around Nichyn's waist. Wrapping his arms around her, he tried to comfort her, however awkwardly.

"Why don't they come back?" she cried, her shoulder shaking as much from her sobs as from the cold.

He had no answer; this world was too different for him to know.

Ten minutes later, the lightning was too close, and he ushered Lera into the Rym house. She stayed in front of the fire all night, not letting Nichyn out of her sight until she fell asleep on the couch.

Her parents—a few hours apart—returned a day later, when Lera's cold had just started.

They'd left her waiting too long.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Lera woke up, and immediately knew it was going to be a bad day. Her "early" morning free write ended up going on for pages in unintelligible scribble. Her head ached, and she went through twenty tissues in just as many minutes. Of her parents, only her father was home. He remained silent and resigned through breakfast.

Mostly, she knew it would be miserable, because the sun was out. Blaringly humid, with the bugs out early and ready to…well, bug people…it was the kind of day under which Lera wilted. She'd wish for rain, but her normal reaction to it would probably worry Arelyk and Shanya.

(Nichyn would get it, though.)

_Lerasina?_

She was up in her room, trying to write, when the voice interrupted her thoughts. Lera jumped before recognizing it as the one from…

"H-hello?" she half-whispered as she looked around her room. "Is—is s-someone there?"

_Hello, Lerasina_.

"Um, I-I don't suppose y-you could—uh—show up, somehow? So I know I'm not going crazy?"

"Of course, I'm sorry." Slowly, a man appeared several feet in front of her. Lera blinked. "It's—no one's been able to see or hear me before this, so I never thought… I apologize."

A sneeze cut off any questions she might have. "Ugh, excuse me." Turning away, she blew her nose quickly. Cold medicine, unfortunately, seemed to take forever to start working. "Y-you—uh—caught me mid-cold. Um… D-do you—uh—take a seat?"

He shook his head. "No, I'm fine." The man stared at her, uncertain.

Okay, so he wasn't about to start the conversation. "Who are you?"

"My name is Devnos Klis. I'm—that is, I am Sanar's brother."

She frowned a moment before it clicked. "Nichyn's uncle?" He _did_ have a basic resemblance of her friend.

"Yes. Of course, you know him better."

"If you're…in…Gallinore, why isn't Nichyn living with you?" It may have been the cold, but she couldn't seem to really make him out.

"Having a severely limiting case of dead." That seemed to settle something in his mind. Before Lera could adjust to the fact that there was a _ghost_ in her _bedroom_, Devnos continued. "Lerasina—"

Surprisingly, all she could think to say was, "Call me Lera."

"_Lera_, you're the only person I've been able to contact since my death. I've been…blocked from the people I _need_ to reach."

"Why _me_?" she asked. She stared at him, stunned. "I-I mean, I'm just—I'm m-me. N-nothing special."

"I don't know why. But—please, it's my sister. Sanar, she's…" He swallowed convulsively. "I—I can't warn her. But…Prophecy—she's—"

As he explained the situation, Lera's eyes widened in increasing horror. Sanar's prophesized fate had the girl crying, and agreeing to help in seconds.

"I don't know if it'll work," he told her helplessly. "But I can't…I can't just give up on her."

"I said I'll do it—anything—"

"You need to think about it," he snapped. "This is serious, Lera. It's going against Prophecy, and It won't take it lying down."

She sniffled, and crossed her arms over her chest. "Devnos—"

He continued as if he hadn't heard her. "I've gone over it, and I can't think of any way it could lash back at you, but—"

"It needs to be done," Lera interrupted, almost sharply. Something cold had taken up in her eyes where the tears had been. "So I am going to help."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Nichyn sneezed right as he opened the door, and only just missed the person standing there. "Sorry," he rasped.

"S'okay." Lera smiled weakly. "After all, I'm the one who gave you the cold. Y'gonna let me in?"

He did. "Everyone else is out right now."

Lera nodded with something that looked like relief. "That's okay—I just… Do you wanna hang out for a while?" She sniffled. "I brought some holo-vids."

Nichyn smiled, his miserable day brightening. "I assume you know how to work the machine?" The Na'Lein boy had early discovered his mechanical ineptitude in the Ryms' household.

"That, _and_ I know where Shanya keeps the ice cream. So you set up the—" she sneezed "—the tissues and cold medicine in the media room."

He had done so, and even (with much cursing) hooked up the holo-net, when Lera met him in the room.

"It took me a while to get this player, too," she said. Crouching next to it, the girl punched in a series of buttons before pushing in the holo-vid chip. She only barely swayed in dizziness. "It's pretty new, and you have to orient the system. And it's really finicky."

When everything was set up, Lera curled up next to Nichyn on the couch. "This is one of my favourite 'vids," she told him.

On the screen, opening credits rolled. Lera set her bowl of ice cream to her side, and opened her flimsi notebook. "Don't mind me," she said at his look. "'Ve just got an idea."

She relaxed against him as her left hand flew over the flimsi. In the dim lighting, Nichyn glimpsed chicken-scratch words, and his brow crinkled. He wouldn't have expected her writing to look like that. But, then again, he could count on one hand the number of the girls he knew on NLY who could write. Some of the boys he knew had possessed the ability, but most of them had been more interested in "Pucijir's work."

Lera's eyes shone, mesmerized with—he assumed—the tale she spun. Ideas flowed from her heart to her pen then paper, faster than he could ever read. He soon let his eyes drift away from her, and he watched the holo-vid.

She was right—it was a good story. Interesting, and humane. The love story, though, for all Lera's comments, still seemed strange to him. "Happily ever after" was supposed to lead to marriage, but he could not imagine his parents behaving like the romantic couple of this 'vid.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Two hours later, the closing credits scrolled down the screen. Nichyn straightened carefully, looking down at Lera. She hadn't moved during the 'vid. Only now did she seem to startle; she blinked rapidly up at him.

"Did you fall asleep?" he asked. Although amused, his voice was hushed.

She sat up with an air of confusion. "Um…no…" She cleared her throat. "I—I got…distracted." She snapped her notebook shut. The pages crinkled from all her writing.

"Working on a story the whole time?"

"Uh—yeah." Her voice was still raspy and slightly nasal from her cold. Somehow, though, it sounded a little better than before. "Yeah, I just…you know, got really into it."

Beside her on the couch, Lera's iced cream had completely melted.


	86. Ch18: Interlude, Part I

If you remember way back at the start of "In the Morning," I mentioned that the story occasionally skips forward in the timeline--about two years after the story actually starts. This (and the other parts called "Interlude, Part ") is one of those chapters :) They were initially going to be in bold, but once I took a look at ff.n's chapters in all bold, I had a change of heart :P

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

**Chapter Eighteen: Interlude, Part I**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Nichyn was late on his visiting day. Adapting from NLY's tempo to Gallinore's—that is, where the Ryms always had one more thing to run back for—was something on which he still worked.

Lera didn't mind. Nichyn had come even when the others had work or training; he had never broken that promise.

She continued with her writing until he arrived. She had gotten past the beginning of Dr. Pilk's "last step to recovery." Mentally, it had been the most difficult to write. She hadn't been greatly involved with that first part of Sanar's journey, and the details had been hazy. But everything after…

A tall, wiry boy sat down across from her. "What's up?"

Lera grinned and brushed her hair out of her face. "You've got yourself some working slang," she noticed immediately. "Very cool, Nichyn."

His eyes betrayed his continuous concern, but Nichyn smiled back. "I'm quite proud of myself," he agreed.

"As you should be." The dishwater blond flipped her notebook shut. "Just you today?" she checked. "Shanya said she and Arelyk might be able to come, but since they're not behind you…"

"They'll come in a few days." He shifted uncomfortably for a moment on his chair, then abruptly moved to sit next to her. "Stuff came up. You know how it is. Sorry."

"No, I wanted to see you today. Really." She stood. "Wanna go walk around? The visiting lounge isn't as bad as some of the rooms, but…"

He nodded quickly. Even as he adjusted to peace, Nichyn still sometimes got the jitters. Fighting and being on his guard for so much of his life on NLY had left its mark on him, never to fade.

The planet did that to people. Even Lera had a few such marks.

"So…how are you?" he asked once they were outside.

He always asked, and he always wanted the answer. She almost wished—for his sake—that he didn't care quite as much. Nichyn had enough people to lose sleep over without worrying about her.

"I'm…alright." She brightened, having almost forgotten that she had solid, good news this time. Eagerly, she watched his face as she spoke. "Dr. Pilk said I can come home soon."

"That's great," Nichyn replied, beaming.

Lera loved his smile.

"Did she say when?"

"As soon as I'm done this last project of hers." So it was vague. Lera didn't feel guilty about her response—she doubted Nichyn would care much for the truth.

"How long, do you think?"

"A month…maybe more." The memories came easy enough, and sometimes the words did, too. Lera's problem with this story was keeping her emotions in control. Someday she'd tell Nichyn, but not yet. He'd probably know that part, anyway, when the truth came out.

"Never mind about me," she said. "I'm all we ever seem to talk about when you visit. How's your studying? Stumbled across any new, astonishing facets of democracy?"

"I'm not sure I trust the senate," he confessed, easily adapting to the subject change. "It seems like they hamper necessary decisions. What if they are chosen poorly? In times of crisis, they could take up too much valuable time."

"I read about something like that, somewhere," she mused out loud. "I can't remember where… But it was around the Clone Wars. The political leader—the Chancellor, in the Old Republic—can be issued emergency powers, I think. That way, he or she doesn't have to put forth ideas to the senate before acting."

"That could result in a terrible situation," he replied grimly.

"Uh…yeah. Actually," she said with a wince, "I just remembered where I heard it: Galactic History 10 class. It's how Emperor Palpatine turned the Old Republic into the Empire."

"You mean like the New Empire? The one you were at war with several years ago?"

She nodded. "Some guy was pretending to be Palpatine back from the dead. I can't remember his name—they only found out at the end of the fighting." She grew quiet, remembering the war.

(_Which_ war?)

"I noticed you were writing when I came."

If she hadn't known him, Lera might have been fooled by Nichyn's "casual" remark. But she knew her friend—even as well as she knew Arelyk. Nichyn was well aware that she hadn't written much since her admittance to the hospital. He had probably been waiting for a moment to slip it in, or to use it to distract her.

She considered making her answer fuzzy; Nichyn had made very clear his view on what had happened. But she didn't want to lie to him.

"I'm writing about everything that happened," she said bluntly. "With me, Sanar, Kyp, NLY…Prophecy and Vengeance…and him." At Nichyn's stricken look, Lera slipped under his arm. She always felt warmer when Nichyn held her. Besides, he seemed to take comfort in holding onto her.

"It's Dr. Pilk's project, Nichyn. I'm supposed to find some way to express what happened."

He squeezed her shoulders, yet his entire body remained tense. "I don't like it."

"I didn't think you would," she said wryly. The girl smirked up at him. "You're my overprotective guy-friend. The project's…kinda stupid." Actually, after writing some of it, she wasn't so sure of her own opinion. "Not like I'm in charge of my therapy, though."

"But…you just have to _express_ it, not write about it all. Why don't you just throw some paint at a poster, and assign it some 'meaning'? Why _write_ it?"

Lera rolled her eyes at him. "Because unlike _someone_ I know, I have no artistic talent whatsoever. I failed 'Stick Figures 101'." She smiled humourlessly. "Besides, someone has to do it, and since Devnos seems to have passed on the gift of recording things… Why not push it a little further?"

A flick of his eyes betrayed Nichyn's unease. "What do you mean, he passed it on? You aren't—he didn't—"

"No, no visions," she was quick to assure. "I'm still blind to the Force, and inaccessible to Prophecy. I just…meant…" How to explain what she was only beginning to feel, somewhere deep inside her? "I'm different, now. The past year…with Devnos, my parents…even with you…it changed me."

"Devnos," Nichyn repeated in a tight voice.

She pulled away from her friend just enough to see his face. "Nichyn, about Devnos—"

The dark-haired teenager's expression hardened. "I don't want to talk about him," he snapped.

Lera involuntarily stiffened. "O-okay," she stammered. She left his embrace to walk ahead of him by half a step. In front of her, her hands played uncomfortably with her shirt. "Um, w—we don't have to, then, if you d-don't want to. U-um…"

"Lera…" He exhaled sharply, and she thought he might have cursed under his breath.

Sometimes, she thought Nichyn had as much baggage about—and as many unresolved issues from—The Occurrence as she did.

"Look, I'm sorry," he said as he caught up with her. "Of course we can talk about—him. If you need to."

Reaching a bench, she sat down. "We don't _have_ to," she told him tiredly. "But we should, eventually. It happened, Nichyn. We can't ignore it."

"I know. I just—" He struggled for words for a moment.

(Nichyn never struggled with words unless it had to do with her, or translation confusion. Sometimes Lera hated that she did that to him. Sometimes she didn't.)

"I agreed to help."

"But you didn't know—"

"Neither did he," she replied softly.

"He _should_ have."

"How?" she pressed. "How could he or I—or anyone—have known?"

"Somehow," Nichyn replied. Stubborn. He was always so _stubborn_. "And how can you defend him? After everything he did—"

She gave him a look. They had been over this many times before.

"You can't expect me to be nice when it comes to Devnos," Nichyn growled, looking away. "I could kill him."

Straightening, Lera stared at him. "You don't mean that."

"You're in a psychiatric hospital because of him," Nichyn snapped. "I _do_ mean it."

"First of all, I am in here because of Prophecy." Lera's voice was sharp and firm. "Secondly, he is both already dead, and your uncle."

"He led Prophecy to your door."

Lera sighed, and quietly said, "I don't want to argue." She patted the seat next to her. "Sit down. I have to crane my neck to look at you when you're standing. What is Shanya putting in your food?"

He obliged her, but said, "You wanted to talk about this, Ler. You can't change the topic now."

Wearily, she leaned back against the bench. Taking his hand, she played with it. "Don't you think there's already been enough death for this prophecy?" she asked, not looking at him.

"Is there ever?" he retorted. But his fingers tightened around hers.

Lera couldn't answer. "At least it's done now," she said.

The lie clawed at her throat, worse than any sin she had previously committed.


	87. Ch19: The Descent into Hell

**Chapter Nineteen: The Descent into Hell**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"Sanar—"

The woman's eyes widened, and she let a curse escape her lips. "Hey," she said loudly. "We're almost at the base, aren't we? Inside the town? I'll just—go ahead now—"

"Sa_nar_." Durron sounded frustrated.

Sanar didn't really care. She'd been putting him off for weeks. Judging by his tone, he didn't plan to accept her brush-off this time. With that thought in mind, she kicked her paxi into a swifter pace. The animal grunted with displeasure, but complied.

"Oh, come on, Sanar—wait up. I just want to ask you something—"

Someone laughed at her predicament, and Sanar made a note to have a talk with them. It wasn't _funny_. She'd somehow kriffing forgiven the guy, and now he wouldn't leave her alone.

Ignoring him and racing ahead, she came to an abrupt stop several minutes later. The landscape briefly became greener, indicating a water source. A village would be built within the foliage, behind the hills, ahead of them.

Durron almost ran into her. "Thanks so much for stopping," he spoke sarcastically.

"Shut up," she hissed.

He wasn't looking ahead.

In a daze, she smacked him on the shoulder before pointing. "Smoke," she told him.

/_Smoke rose from the remains. Thick. Poisonous_./

The Na'Lein woman went onward more cautiously now. Kyp appeared to catch onto her mood, because his tongue was silenced.

They crossed the terrain as quickly as possible, speed sacrificed only to stealth. If Sanar was right, they couldn't afford to lose the element of surprise.

/_Executions were public, bloody—even crazed. One of the Holy Brothers had gone insane, and the others often let him loose on the crowd, or at least on the victims. He thrived on the terror, but especially on its fulfillment_./

Everyone had heard the stories. Rafintair demanded loyalty—no, _fanatical_ love and fealty—from those he ruled. Villages and cities alike were ravaged if even the slightest suspicion existed. Rumours of Resistance cells left towns decimated.

Towns like the one from which smoke now rose.

/_There was no escape_./

There were never any survivors.

/_None_./

Ever.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

The stories had not done the horror justice.

They never did.

Dozens of Holy Brothers and their soldiers swarmed through the village. And behind them, blood flowed.

Women were dragged away to be tortured and then killed. The lucky ones fell to an indiscriminate blade.

Fires burned, scorching and greedy, in homes. Screams clawed the air.

Children ran, but did not escape.

(There is no escape. None. Ever.)

Some men and women fought. They…

(_Don't think about it_.)

It was Hell, and at a level that Sanar knew. All too well.

Horaire had liked to bring her along when he blessed the sight of the purges (massacre) afterwards. Sometimes he knighted the cruellest of the murderers with his ceremonial dagger—and blood, of course, on the man's shoulders.

(It was the same blade she used to kill him.)

Sanar and Kyp had arrived at the end of the slaughter, when the last fighters were dying. Few, save the Holy Brothers and the soldiers, moved. Only the inferno grew in strength. Pucijir's work in yet another town—approved by the demon (god?) Himself.

Sanar startled out of her memories when the man beside her cursed. "We have to get back to the others," Kyp hissed urgently. "If they see us—"

One person, barely twenty metres from Sanar, suddenly picked herself up from the ground. She couldn't have been more than fifteen years, but in her hand she clutched a dagger.

Was she in the Resistance? Connected to it? Or was she on her own, but fighting anyway?

Sanar didn't know.

Kyp's grip was tight on her shoulder as he tried to pull her away. "Sanar, there's too many of them. We _have_ to get back to the others." His voice was tense enough to snap. She knew leaving went against everything he believed in, and everything he stood for.

Sanar couldn't drag her eyes away from the girl.

That the fighter looked like Sanar did not register in her brain. All she saw was brown hair, uncovered by the proper veil. All she saw was fighter's instinct. The inability to give up on the lost—but right—cause. A hero.

All Sanar saw was…

"Jaina."

The girl attacked a soldier, and slit his throat before he knew what was happening. She knew how to fight.

Sanar _knew_ she should be fighting alongside the other.

With her sister—

"Sanar!" Kyp's voice became rougher, more desperate.

In a lightning movement, Sanar grabbed Kyp's lightsaber from where it hung at his belt. At the same time, her mind took in everything she hadn't noticed before, and prepared to fight it.

Mostly, she prepared to fight the Holy Brother who was even now disarming (Jaina) the girl.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Kyp hadn't survived his life's hardships because he was pretty. He had been dodging blows, and fighting against too many odds, since long before Han Solo found him in the Kessel mines.

But Sanar still gained three feet of ground before he realized what she meant to do.

Instantly, the whispers that lingered in the back of his mind grew in volume—

Jarran. _You will need her. The entire planet—the entire_ galaxy_—could be against you, but if you have Sanar's aid, you cannot lose_.

—and then became a scream—

_YOU MUST NOT LOSE HER, OR YOU WILL FAIL!_

—that almost sent him to his knees.

Despite Jaina's teasing, Kyp had _not_ been "sitting around on his butt" since he came back to life. Knowing that he had to—somehow—almost single-handedly save a planet had given him the incentive to train fiercely.

In a movement almost as fast as Sanar's, Kyp tackled her to the ground. Even before they landed, he had knocked his lightsaber free of her hand. With the Force, he deactivated the blade before it did something unfortunate.

Sanar struggled to push him off of her, but he didn't allow it. If she wanted to get herself killed, she'd have to do it on her own time, and hope he wasn't anywhere nearby. His own feelings aside, he'd made a promise to Jaina to keep her sister safe.

Jaina.

The girl Sanar had been rushing to help did look a little like her—but more in fighter's spirit than in physical appearance. Kyp still flinched when the Holy Brother knocked the woman (child) to the ground before killing her. Sanar made a sound—part whimper, part vengeance cry. Gently, Kyp clasped his hand over her mouth before it could grow and be heard over the chaos.

Sanar resisted everything, and leaving was no exception. Regardless, Kyp half-dragged (by her own insistence), half-carried her back to the others. Almost as soon as they were out of sight and behind the hills, she went limp. Convinced she wouldn't run back, he gently lay her down on the sand until the others came. When she started crying, he couldn't quite help himself.

All too aware that she might finally kill him for it, he picked her up and held her close. She didn't have enough fight in her to push away, and only wetted his shirt with her tears.

Kyp's jaw tightened, even as the whispers (_the Sildar_) became increasingly troubled.

Someone—a _lot_ of someones—would pay.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Kyp and the others had backtracked several kilometres before setting up camp. In the worst-case scenario, the soldiers would be continuing on in their direction. Their only option then would be to fight ("and die," Veras had pessimistically pointed out) or run. Across the desert. They all held to the hope that Rafintair's men would be returning to Quatroc and their emperor. If so, they could follow behind at a safe distance.

The Kavishka wasn't prepared to leave it that way.

Sanar had fallen asleep in his arms hours before. Tear tracks had dried on her face, but a Jedi sleep suggestion would keep away all but the most persistent nightmares.

Veras and Miko kept shooting him looks. The former seemed paranoid, waiting for Kyp to vilify himself. Kyp's apprentice, on the other hand, looked like he wanted to knock some sense into the Kavishka.

Well, Miko knew better than to challenge Kyp when he was being stubborn—and Kyp could be grossly stubborn about his right to love Sanar. Even Jaina couldn't knock some sense into him.

When Kyp left Sanar in the tent she shared with Krista, he came out to see Gantik scowling. A menacing look quickly solved that problem.

Kyp stayed behind with Sanar, watching to make sure she didn't nightmare.

The Kavishka went forward for justice.

Nay, for _Vengeance_.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

The Sildar thirsted for blood—for pain.

For _Vengeance_. Always.

They had waited 776 years, and true revenge had to wait a little longer, for the Day of Reckoning. But tonight…tonight they would receive a precious taste of what they demanded.

The Kavishka hunted tonight, haunted by the memory of his love's tears.

(_As it should be_.)

For her, he went into the night. Into the _camp_, where the men waited.

Murderers. Rapists. Defilers. Thieves.

_Traitors_.

They who had turned on Mujir, and on their wives and daughters and sisters.

Out of insatiable thirst, the Sildar drank deeply of the Kavishka's gifts. Darklight, hatelove, villainhero, deathlife, wrongright. And love—desperate, passionate, (not) hopeless love. The wine of the goddess. Even Jarran, for all his goodness, had not tasted quite like this.

The Kavishka's soul surrendered so prettily. Prophecy had chosen this one well.

The first kill surprised the Sildar. It was a vicious, needed, glorious kill. They had forgotten the feel…

For Pucijir's men, there was agony. A small death of Pucijir. For the Sildar, victory. One small measure of payment—one of _many_.

The Kavishka roared through the camp. A massacre for a massacre…

He played tricks with the soldiers' minds, and killed the Holy Brothers when they were yelling for order.

The Holy Brothers had only slivers of a soul each. The Sildar killed them slowly before damning them to the lowest level of Hell.

(_They deserved worse. Far worse_.)

When none still stood within the camp, the Kavishka was still sharing his love's distress. Still seeing her tear-etched face. Still loving her, yearning for her.

The Sildar drank some more of that.

Delicious.

_Now give us more…_

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

It was a long night.

Kyp's arms and soul burned from the Sildar.

From dealing death.

His hands smarted—again from the Sildar. But this…for something else. Indefinable. Strange. He didn't know quite what to make of it, and he had even less idea as to what it meant. As long as it disappeared eventually, though, he wouldn't start to worry about it yet.

Instead, he regarded the sight before him in some mix of shock and horror.

No lone person should be able to set such a scene. Yet still he could hear the insatiable voices of the Sildar—_Death, yes, give us more, more_.

Those he had killed had not deserved their lives. Their hearts had been black as void, and their sights fixed on evil things. Just hours earlier, they had slaughtered over a hundred civilians for their emperor.

Kyp's massacre (slaughter) had been exact, equal recompensation for what the soldiers and Holy Brothers had done.

But had it been noble?

Had it been _right_?

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Pucijir's soldiers were taught early on in their careers to fight to the death. As both heresy and punishable by death, running was not an option.

(It was the _only_ option.)

Mathus had not thought of that when his comrades were felled by a screaming blade. He had not seen much of anything since he stumbled upon Brother Vashkav's corpse.

On the first day of their journey, the Holy brother had reassured Mathus that _this_ was where Mathus belonged—working Emperor Jir's will.

(Pucijir made the Emperor his physical representation. All who follow the god must obey the Emperor.)

Now Vashkav was in two pieces, and Mathus was spread out in the desert, completely spent. Somewhere nearby there should be a watchman's post, but Mathus had no strength to continue searching for it. The deserts of his childhood would be kinder to him than the ghouls that had attacked his camp.

Just as the world darkened and Pucijir came for him, Mathus felt rough hands haul him up. Far away, a voice called for another, and Mathus was dragged across the sands and into unconsciousness.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Within two days, the watchman—named Qas—had brought Mathus back to full health. That was not the problem.

Mathus' story of an attacking army required an immediate report to the Emperor. The Resistance had never been so bold, nor caused so much damage, before this.

The soldiers' deaths, of course, were not nearly so disturbing as the slaughter of the seven Holy Brothers. Every Brother was trained from a young age in battle and strategy. Further, each had some training as a priest. Pucijir acknowledged and watched them as his most loyal servants. Those who attacked the Holy Brothers, attacked Pucijir Himself.

Despite the Resistance Army's obvious presence, Mathus had only really seen one man. But that lone man had savagely cut down any and all Brothers who fought him.

With the sword that laughed as it drew blood.

_Laughed_ in a way that would have been distinctly feminine—except that no woman sounded so powerful, nor ever so delighted.

(None he had seen recently.)

When Mathus had first told Qas of the things he had seen, the man had been disbelieving. After a night of prayers and sacrifices, however, Qas had been quick to call on Pucijir for communication with Prince General Gaffil Jir himself.

Magic raced down Mathus' spine as his emperor's brother appeared amidst the fire-window before him. Gaffil was dark of skin and hair. His plain, black clothing could have been worn by a merchant, but on Gaffil it still screamed of his power. Emperor Rafintair radiated the strength of Pucijir; his brother had a power all his own.

In a low, smooth voice, Gaffil spoke. "I have been told of the trouble you witnessed, _litani_ Mathus."

The soldier bowed deeply before replying. "Your Highness. I am the only one left alive of my regiment."

"You were sent to punish the Resistance-sympathetic town of Gaza." The prince's voice was as sharp as a Holy Brother's blade. "What happened out of the ordinary? Did the town resist?"

"We dealt with Gaza easily enough, your highness. Some villagers fought, but only a few of our soldiers were wounded. The problem was—it was after." Mathus swallowed. "During the late hours of the night.

"At first, we didn't know what was happening—soldiers were dying, but we couldn't see anything. Then—" Mathus gulped in memory, "a man appeared. He—"

"A man?" Gaffil snapped.

"Dark features, and a presence. He was very tall. But—but his sword—"

"What about it?" The demand, terse and sharp, came through the general's teeth.

"It screamed warcries at us, and it _laughed_ every time it drew blood."

Gaffil's expression remained blank, hiding his thoughts. "And the Resistance army? What is their number?"

"I could not see. I—I only saw the slaughter, and—and I knew I had to…to warn you."

"Do not lie to me." Something in Gaffil's voice greatly reminded Mathus of a serpent. Coiling, tensing, hissing, attacking. Yet his voice remained low and unaffected, his earlier temper gone from sight. "You ran as soon as the battle went ill," the prince continued. "Not to tell someone, but because you are a coward."

Mathus fell to his knees, head bowed, at the truth. "Your Highness, I—"

But Gaffil wasn't listening to him anymore. The general's next words were directed to Qas. "I will send a regiment of Holy Brothers to your location. When they arrive, follow their orders, and be prepared for battle. The Resistance will pay for its lucky fight."

Gaffil's image flickered before he added, "And kill the _puzilts_. Cowardice is unacceptable."


	88. Ch20: The Nightmare

**Chapter Twenty: The Nightmare**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_(Nearly two weeks later)_

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Kyp ducked at the Sildar's command. A split second later, a dagger whispered over his head and landed in the grass.

He snapped into battle mode and drew both his lightsaber and the Sildar. His paxi suddenly folded beneath him with a dying whinny, and the others turned around at the noise.

"Weapons out," the Kavishka snapped, jumping from his dead mount.

As if his call was the signal, two score men charged over the hill. Kyp, Veras, Braun, and—of course—Sanar recognized them as Holy Brothers. Judging by the swords they had drawn, Kyp's killing spree hadn't gone unnoticed. The Kavishka wished, futilely, that Sanar would stay in safety. Unfortunately, she looked positively gleeful as she drew her blasters. Kyp wasn't about to spoile her mood. If worst came to worst, Sanar could insult her way out of just about anything.

The first Holy Brother fought for a minute before dying on the Sildar. When Kyp looked up next, the others had been swarmed by Rafintair's fighters.

The first battle had begun.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

It wasn't the same, shooting Holy Brothers before they could reach her, and murdering a personal monster as the blood gushed over her hands. Sanar could be grateful for that. She didn't expect Pucijir's demons to haunt her after their deaths.

She didn't know why Horaire haunted her more than any of her other sins. Everyone—especially Jaina, who had, in a way, lived the murder—had told Sanar that it had been self-defence. Or, at the very least, it was protecting her sister.

(But Sanar had never stopped Horaire before, and she wasn't sure her only reason for killing him was Clayra's life.)

The Na'Lein woman still preferred killing the Holy Brothers.

(She still saw the blood flow.)

A half-moment before the next one came at her, Sanar scanned the area.

(Kyp) Durron was, of course, everywhere. At front, taking down the second, then third, then fourth line; next, helping Clayra with her own fight.

Near Clayra, Gantik fought viciously. Few made it to Sanar's sister, and those that did soon died. A grudging point in his favour. Clayra was not a fighter—or, at least, not when Sanar had last been living under the same roof as her.

Veras fought for bloody satisfaction. She carried a blaster, but only used that after her foe had been thrown to the ground in humiliation. Sanar shared a wicked grin with her peer.

Krista stayed close to Miko, but her blasters and…was that a rope?...weren't as effective as Miko's lightsaber. The once-Dark Jedi was putting himself in the Brothers' way before Krista could even begin to fail. Not far from Durron, an archer had Miko in his sights. Sanar checked the distance, but her short-range blaster couldn't reach the Holy Brother.

"Durron!" Sanar shot an approaching Brother, and knew her next skirmish would start in half a minute. "_Durron_!"

Finally hearing Sanar's yell, Kyp barely paused to kill the Brother who had nearly taken off Gantik's head. He whipped his head around, searching—and then finding—her.

"Sniper!" she shouted, pointing toward the Brother.

Durron nodded his understanding. He launched himself into the air; the sniper died in a particularly gruesome way.

Neither Kyp nor Sanar noticed Braun's more dangerous situation. He had been separated from the group, near the cliff but in the shadow of a tree.

As Devnos could have warned them, Prophecy played dirty.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Braun Yd had never been a fighter.

He grew up on a forgettable, poor Core planet, and supported his ten-member family for years after his father's abandonment. He'd had dreams of higher education, but that would have meant more debts that his family couldn't handle.

Cargo shipping had been the steadiest, best-paying job he could aspire to. At least it had given him experience flying—not to mention, it had been how he met Veras. And how he had stumbled upon his wife's planet. One was decidedly better than the other.

Despite his rougher upbringing, Braun had always relied more on a cool head than a fast fist. Something he probably should have considered. _Before_ he supported his wife into her homeworld's civil war.

Two Holy Brothers had sectioned him off from the others. Actually, it _had_ been three, at the beginning. Braun was rather proud that he had killed one of them. So what if Veras had already pummelled the guy near into oblivion? Braun had shot him before his wife could. Technically, that meant Braun had been the one to kill the guy.

Braun could deal with regular men. His hands weren't entirely clean, after all, and he had survived a war. But Holy Brothers were far from the type of man (or woman, or alien) Braun had dealt with before.

His every move—a limited number, true, but diligently learned from his quite distracting wife/teacher—was countered. Both of Braun's blasters were knocked away in the first ten minutes. They weren't much help in close quarters, so Braun wasn't heartbroken about it. But their loss left him with only a dagger he'd snatched from (one of Veras') Holy Brother kills.

When that, too, was knocked from Braun's hand, he figured he was in for some trouble.

Veras hated it when he was right; this time, Braun agreed with his wife. In a big way.

The blow to his head made his head ring, and sent Braun to the ground. Despite his spinning vision, he tried to kick out. If even one of his attackers fell, the sandy-haired man thought, he might have any kind of chance.

His attempt only garnered a sharp kick to the gut. Above him, a sword glinted—

Then all went black.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar looked up suddenly, wondering at the pain that lanced through her heart.

An instant later, the last Holy Brother died at Durron's hand. About her, Sanar could see only six living people.

The Sildar laughed.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_Devnos grieved_.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_When he opened his eyes again, the world had changed._

_No sword rushed for his neck. No Holy Brother stared down at him._

_For a moment, he let that delude him. Maybe he was safe now, miraculously, and…_

_Being sprayed with blood shattered such thoughts._

_A Holy Brother fell near him as the fighting became louder, more attention-catching. Braun dragged himself up just in time to see: his wife being bashed in the head with a sword handle. She managed to draw and shoot her blaster, killing her foe. But it didn't keep her from falling—the backfire may have even helped._

_Braun darted across the vast distance between them, but couldn't make it before—_

_"_Veras_!"_

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Lera woke with a scream on her lips.

She thought the nightmare might have kept going, but she kept her sobs quiet.

It hadn't been a normal dream. Lera hadn't been some combination of very un-Lera-like characters. Familiar people hadn't suddenly appeared in bizarre roles and with bizarre timing. The plot (if you could call it that) did not change twenty times. The person who died was not family, but she hadn't been unaffected, by any means.

Lera had only been an observer; she had only recognized Sanar, and—after several minutes of thought—Kyp Durron. The scene had stayed basically the same throughout the dream, as had the cast. And time had not played tricks.

Despite that, Lera did not consider even the _idea_ that it might be real. Not until she saw Devnos did it seem somehow, strangely possible.

The ghost sat at the far side of her room. His expression was concerned, but Lera was uncertain of whether or not she would have noticed if she didn't know Nichyn.

"You saw it," he said. "Didn't you."

There was no question in her mind, now, and the truth affected Lera like a punch to the gut. She had somehow nightmared real events. "Why did—" A sob hitched in her throat, and she swiped the tears away even as they fell. "Why did she have to die?"

Devnos' worry became more apparent as he came closer to her bedside. "Someone had to," he said, more than a touch bitterly. "Prophecy decided it had to be either Braun or Veras. After that, it was up to Veras. She chose to save her husband."

"But _why_? Why did either of them have to die?"

He considered feeding her a dull, overused platitude, but did not. For good or ill, Lera was involved. She had the right to know. "On Na'Lein'yhpaon, seven is a…powerful number. Especially to Pucijir's Order." He looked away from Lera's wide, tear-shining eyes. "Prophecy is fighting fire with inferno—using all of Pucijir's tricks against him. That means…sacrificing anything and everything necessary."

"What?"

"It means…protecting a support group of seven," he clarified. "It means taking away someone who knows Sanar, and who might have been able to…" he sighed, "change something."

Lera sat up and wrapped her blanket around her shoulders. "There are seven in total now. Not seven-and-the-Kavishka."

"They must have plans for the insertion of a stranger."

"It's not fair," she said after a moment. Her expression had become uncharacteristically quarrelsome.

This time, he didn't speak further. She knew the reality of the situation. "You should go back to sleep, Lera. It's over for now—you shouldn't have to see…" _anything more_.

Lera shot a quick glance through her window. Devnos wondered if the girl was even aware that she looked for some kind of reassurance from Nichyn, across the way. For a split second, the thought relaxed his expression.

"Good night, Devnos."

But her voice was still so very young, despite her dawning understanding.

One more sin—hopefully, not another sacrifice.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

They didn't find the body, but they hadn't expected to. Not when Braun, in a near-catatonic state, had told them that he saw his wife fall over the cliff. Not with a fast-moving river at the bottom of the long drop. Not even with Braun, still bleeding, stumbling along the river's rocky side, searching for his wife's corpse.

Krista didn't think she would ever forget that image: the desperation and grief bleeding from Braun's entire body as he threw himself into denial.

Sanar, on the other hand, had ranted, and raved, and thrown things, and picked fights.

_She won't be the last, Krista! What do you think of_ that_?_

She had refused any and all sympathy. Knowing Sanar's temper, most were content to give her wide berth. Strangely, though, Sanar let Kyp help her pile and burn the bodies of the slain Holy Brothers.

Krista and Miko stayed to the side watching the pair, while keeping a not-so-inconspicuous eye on Braun. He didn't need to be watched; tears fell down his face into the hollow of his throat, but he remained pale and unmoving. He'd stopped shouting a few hours before. He hadn't moved at all since Kyp dragged him out of the river. Braun wasn't going anywhere. But Krista didn't think anyone should be left alone. Not after something like…this.

She wouldn't want to be.

(But she wouldn't let it come to that, no matter what Sanar said. Miko would survive this fight, even if that meant Krista dying in his place.)

"This feels…wrong."

Krista looked sharply at her former partner. It took her a second to reply. "Of course it does," she said, more harshly than she had intended. "It's—Veras is…" She glanced uncertainly at Braun. "Nothing about this is right."

"That's not what I meant," Miko replied testily. He struggled for words for several minutes. "I meant—there is something _wrong_ here. Something we're missing, or ignoring, or—" He cursed.

"What…kind of something?" she asked, becoming increasingly subdued. She leaned closer to him, and placed her hand on his arm. At his continued, silent scowl at the grass, she pressed, "Miko?"

It seemed to be the last bit of pressure he could take. "I don't know!" he exclaimed. With a frustrated growl, he stood. "I just—I _don't know_, but there's something… We're caught up in some game, and we think we know the rules, but we _don't_. There's some—unknown factor—and I feel like we're getting lost in it. And—" Miko stopped his rambling then. When he continued, his voice was quieter, almost resigned. "There's something wrong, or—or at least foreign."

Krista stared at him. "Miko—" This time, she was the one to cut her words. She glanced at Braun again before standing. Coming up beside her friend, she continued. "It's too late to go back now."

"Do you think I don't know that?" At her startled look, Miko softened his tone. "I know, Kris. We have to keep going. But…."

When he didn't finish, Krista squeezed his arm. There was nothing to say.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sometimes, during Veras and Braun's romance, there had been moments that went too fast/slow. Their first real argument, for example, had gone too quickly for him to realize what he was saying, but too slowly for him to escape unscathed. Her (bridesmaid) walk down a friend's wedding aisle had been another. She had been wearing an atrocious green dress with far too many ruffles, and had one (visible) blaster strapped to her ankle. It had been the first time he consciously thought, _I am going to marry that woman_.

The end of their life partnership was ending with such a moment.

His thoughts were fragmented—confused—chaotic. It all went unbearably fast, but he couldn't react to anything. Not since Kyp forced him to stop looking for—

That stage of his reaction had scared him. Denial, wild and crazed, as he scrabbled for proof or respite. For something. Anything. She couldn't be gone, she couldn't—he'd promised her the nightmare was over, never coming back. _It isn't a dream, but it's not a nightmare; it's real, it's real—_

He'd read somewhere about the five stages of grief; several times, Braun had even experienced them. This, though… This was not like losing his long-sickly younger brother, or like watching a man he respected die fighting his war. This was Veras, his _wife_, the woman he had pledged to spend the rest of his life with. It was utterly sudden and shocking. He'd never gone through denial/anger/bargaining/depression/acceptance so quickly. Practice helped that way, but somehow it seemed the worst for it.

Veras had still been vibrant, if more than a bit worn from life. She had believed in what she died for, but she wouldn't have come on her own. Yet Braun had never stopped her, nor even let her think that they wouldn't make it out alive.

She and he had had such plans—of someday slowing down, and maybe even having a family. Those dreams had—

(_died_)

—with Veras.

Sometime during the stage of acceptance, things had become clear. Jagged shards of reality were thrown into his face. Cold, sharp, stinging, and making everything throb—like the first hard, windy snowstorm. Icy horror had swept over his soul, stripping it of all its defensive trappings.

Time had passed since then. Reality's shards were beginning to penetrate, to scrape along his stunned mind. They had started to compartmentalize his thoughts, and wash away some of the blood. Locked away the murdered dreams, the unspoken conversations, the never-shared adventures.

Reality's storm left behind something hard.

_Veras is dead_.

His wife had been murdered by vicious, evil men. The same such men who had made her life Hell for so many years. They had done everything they could to break her, and then they had murdered her.

To them, she was just one among many. Not even that.

_My wife is dead_.

It was far more than enough.

Braun had always prided himself on keeping a cool head, on knowing his limits. It was a hard galaxy—he looked out for himself and the ones he loved, and tried to do the right thing whenever possible. He had seen more than he wanted to, and he usually stayed out of fights he couldn't win. At least, so long as no one he knew was involved.

NLY had been a special case. It was a ruthless, powerful empire—Braun knew what such places could do. If Veras had not agreed with Sanar about coming, he would not have broached her about it. Heroics were great for stories, but they rarely paid off. Happy endings were few and far between, despite what children were taught.

Braun wasn't thinking about survival anymore. His wife—his lover, his partner, his friend—had died while saving his life. He would take revenge, as bloody as it could be, on any and all of Rafintair's soldiers.

See if he left anything but the actual killing for Kyp and the Sildar.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar watched, a scowl on her face, as Kyp threw his things together. "We haven't even had Veras' funeral yet, and you want to _leave_?"

He returned her glare with one of his own. "We can't stay here."

"Well, no, I hadn't planned on it," she snapped. "But we won't get _anywhere_ tonight. The sun is setting in an hour, Braun is grieving, everyone is exhausted—" She sighed loudly in frustration when he didn't stop packing. "Durron! Are you _listening_ to me? We fought nearly forty Holy Brothers, and lost one of our own, today. We're on our last reserves. And I can name a few people who won't take well to even a few hours of traveling."

Kyp threw his bag to the ground, and stomped over her. "They know where we are, Sanar. _Rafintair_ found out about us, and sent those men to kill us. When they don't report back, Rafintair will send another group—this time of more. We need as much of a head start as we can possibly get, and we need to get out of here in case there are reinforcements already summoned."

"What?" Sanar stared at him. "But—we've been keeping such a low profile. How could they know about us?"

Kyp turned away, caught momentarily in his indecision. After a pause, he continued his packing. "Don't mention this to anyone else yet. I think I'll tell Miko, and perhaps Krista, but I don't want panic."

"Whatever." This time, Sanar was the one to stomp across the distance. "I want to know how the Jirs found out about us, and I want to know _yesterday_. I swear, Durron, if you hold out on me…"

"Do you remember that village from two weeks ago?" he abruptly asked. "The—the one we were supposed to stay at?"

She swallowed, but kept her voice steady. "Yes."

"That's how."

"Meaning _what_?" When Kyp didn't answer, Sanar growled, and yanked his elbow to make him look at her. "We stayed out of sight. I _watched_ that girl die. They didn't see us."

"No, they didn't," he admitted uncomfortably. "Not _then_."

Sanar's eyes narrowed. "What…did…you…do?"

"After I took you to the camp, I went back. To the town."

She stared at him. "_And_?"

Kyp sighed. "I just—the Sildar—I slaughtered them, Sanar. All the soldiers, and the Holy Brothers with them. I thought I killed them all, but one of the soldiers must have escaped, and reported it to Rafintair."

Oddly, the first thing Sanar wanted to scream at him for was that he had put himself at risk, not for leaving her behind. She reassured herself that it was only because Durron was the Kavishka; his death would mean the failure of the Prophecy, and the non-salvation of her planet. "What happened to there being too many of them?" she demanded.

"I don't _know_. I barely realized what was happening. I just couldn't—couldn't bear seeing you so upset. I just _did_ it. And then the Sildar—"

Sanar had been dealing with confusion about _her_ being a reason, but her eyes became grim at the mention of the Sildar. "What about it?"

"It's— You have to understand, Sanar. It's alive; I can always hear it, demanding revenge. And when I gave it what it wanted… It was like it couldn't get enough." Unconsciously, he rubbed his sword hand. "It burned with impatience."

Sanar stared at his hands. Before she caught herself, she almost reached out to him. "It…burned?" she repeated uncertainly. "Literally?"

He swallowed, but didn't reply.

"Durron—"

Kyp had no intention of continuing this conversation, and he interrupted her. "We never found Veras' body; we can have the funeral elsewhere. But we need to get out of here, and quickly. Let the others know when you go to pack."

She blinked at the abrupt subject change, but began to walk towards the others. At the last moment, she turned back around. "Kyp? About the Sildar…just…be careful. Alright?"

"I will." He tried to smile for her, and it came just a little easier than he had expected. "Sanar—I'm sorry about Veras. She was a good person."

Sanar's grin was just as weak as his. "She was."

The _thank you_ remained unspoken, but he heard it anyway.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_It wasn't supposed to be like this._

_Lera should never have seen Veras' death, let alone the events right before after it. It made no_ sense_._

_Devnos, of course, had seen it. He Saw many things, even on this side of life. What he could not See, he watched. Watched for his sister, and for some clue as to how he could save her. Watched as Vengeance marched onward with its blind hatred and pride. Watched as Prophecy played its game._ He _had seen it. But he was a seer—a messenger—and dead besides._

_Lera should not have been_ capable _to see what she had, let alone be_ forced _to see it. She was barely fifteen. Girls on Na'Lein'yhpaon were often younger than her when they first saw their world's cruelty, true. But that couldn't justify how far into Vengeance's mess the Hapan girl was being dragged. Devnos had decided to ask Lera for help, for good or ill—but she should have been on the sidelines. _ Firmly _on the sidelines. Away from nightmares and such._

_But putting aside those concerns, Devnos was still left with a puzzle._ How _could Lera have seen Veras' death?_

_After she had gone to sleep, Devnos had checked Lera once more for Force-sensitivity. He'd searched far more intently than the first time, and a little deeper. If Lera had potential as a seer, Devnos had to know_ immediately_, before this went too far._

_But he had found neither sensitivity, nor potential. Just a friend and writer's receptiveness._

_At the back of his mind, a theory began to form. Devnos wasn't sure what to make of it. It had been something he even considered as possible, when he began. But if it was true…_

_Devnos resolved to keep a closer eye on Lerasina Verili. And…perhaps…guard his own thoughts more intently._

_Just in case_.

_**x-x-x-x-x**_

_"It just doesn't seem…real. Seven years, Braun. This is one helluva long dream."_

_"This isn't a dream, love."_

_"Then where's the nightmare? There's always one waiting."_

_"No more nightmares."_


	89. Ch21: Splinters

**Chapter Twenty-One: Splinters**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Grief still hung over what Krista had nicknamed the "Prophecy Crew."

Braun, of course, had been altered in a very noticeable way. His tongue had become sharp, and his eyes were hard. Someone always tried to stay near him, but few could deal with his harshness for long. And there was only so much time they could spend helping him "better his fighting ability."

Sanar had not been especially close to Veras, either while they had been part of the Resistance together or while on their journey through Prophecy. It did not come even close to what she had with Jaina or even Zekk. But she and Veras had shared very common ground, and the same fear/knowledge of what Pucijir's Order could do to them. In Sanar's eyes, Veras' death made her paranoia warranted. Besides that, bad things came in threes. One comrade had gone down—who would be next? Jaina, who constantly threw herself into situations that would someday drain the infamous Solo luck? Clayra, who could barely fight, but who came on a potentially-suicidal mission anyway? Or even—

But she always stopped herself there, and wondered why Prophecy had to make _Kyp Durron_ so vital to saving her planet.

The others, although less emotionally involved, were still greatly affected by Veras' loss. Kyp blamed himself; Miko worried about their situation, and his gut feelings. Krista kept an even closer eye on Miko, pounced on every shadow, and avoided Sanar; when someone mentioned it, she made jokes that were too tense to be funny. Clayra and Gantik wrote datachips of letters to "their" son.

Divisions began to form, and then they grew even wider.

Supplies were running low. For obvious reasons, they had not been able to stock up in Gaza. At their frantic pace, they had crossed back into full-out desert a few days ago, and food was scarce.

The Sildar was becoming louder, thirstier, and the Force-sensitive travelers were beginning to pick up on it.

Sanar, in particular.

Tensions ran high, supplies disappeared, and they began to fall apart—

And there was still over half a year left.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_One-two-three-four-five, turn_.

Braun stared at the fire as his stomach tightened in hunger. His throat was dry, but so was everyone else's; he refused to be the first to surrender to his thirst. They had little enough water as it was. In any case, the pain almost took away the…rest of it.

Tonight, they had caught a desert haer—an increasingly rare meal. Na'Lein haers were larger and hardier than those on Braun's home planet of Gorlois. So long as they rationed it properly, their crew of seven would eat. Tonight.

_One-two-three-four-five, turn_.

There had been some lighter moments, such as when Kyp tried to figure out how to skin the haer. A lightsaber wasn't made for close-up work, and only in the hands of great experience and practice could wrist movements be deft enough to remove an animal skin. A legendary warrior Kyp may be, but he couldn't do subtle to save his life.

_One-two-three-four-five, turn_.

Braun had never learned the skill himself. (He never needed to; Veras had known.) But he had wordlessly given Kyp his dagger.

_One-two-three-four-five, turn_.

Sanar had been put in charge of cooking the haer, and she turned the skewer with exact movements over the fire. He could see her lips move as she counted under her breath.

_One-two-three-four-five, turn_.

Just like that.

_One-two-three-four-five, turn_.

It was getting on Braun's nerves, honestly. Just…something about it.

_Crackle…slice_.

He wasn't too fond of when she checked the haer for doneness, either. Something about the way she poked it with the dagger, and the lack of emotion in her eyes.

She missed a turn. Braun jumped a little in relief.

"I think it's almost done," she told them.

-_five, turn_.

Or maybe not.

"Could you just—stop that?" he exploded.

Everyone turned to stare at him. Besides being unlike the usually stoic man, it was the first time Braun had spoken since…that day.

He abruptly stood, and turned away from their startled looks. From the cooked animal that had been alive just a few hours ago. "We should keep going," he said, almost to himself. "We didn't have to stop." Anything to get back his control, he thought. He hadn't meant to talk, but now he was stuck with it. He couldn't stem the tide of his words—the protective dam was weakening, and soon it would all come flooding out… But if he talked about something secondary, maybe—maybe—

"No one else is killing Holy Brothers." Miko spoke calmly, but with a subtle edge to his voice. The man had been a Dark Jedi once, and some of that Dark command…and knowledge, judging by his look…remained within him. "You will have plenty of opportunity for revenge."

"We should keep going," Braun snapped, undaunted. "How many people, do you think, die _every day_ in Pucijir's Order?"

Launching herself to her feet, Sanar lashed out before Miko could reply. "How many _more_ do you think will die if we do?"

"_One of us already did!_" And oh gods, he had actually said it out loud.

From the look on her face, Braun expected Sanar to stumble backward. She managed to stay on her feet. That fact reminded him—just a little—of Veras.

"Yes," Sanar said. "One of us did." Once recovered, her self-control stayed firmly in place.

At that moment, everything boiled over in Braun's mind, and he wanted nothing more than to shatter Sanar's self-control. How could she remain so detached? Veras was— They had been friends, at least in Veras' point of view.

He laced his words with venom. "Veras always said you didn't care about anything but Clayra and this planet. I expected that, but she claimed you knew what you were doing."

Sanar flinched, deeply.

"She only came because of you, you know." The words were quieter; his mind almost managed to stop his broken heart from letting them into the open.

This time, Sanar _did_ stumble—as she tried to run away. When she regained her footing, her eyes were wide.

She looked stunned. Wrecked. Lost.

It didn't even begin to compare to how Braun felt.

Back in control, now, he looked away. "I'm sorry," he muttered.

But Sanar had already left.

He slumped back down in front of the fire, ignoring the others.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_That night, Sanar's thoughts spun dizzyingly. It had taken her hours to fall asleep, and even then it was restless._

_Whispers taunted her stricken heart while guilt consumed her._

_Braun's words earlier had penetrated, but Sanar had heard far worse. She had recognized what he had been doing, and knew she would have done the same, in his situation._

_But no one could hurt Sanar Klis the way Sanar Klis could—and did._

"It's not your fault, Brownie."

_But of course it was._

_She gave into Horaire's estimation of her because she hated him. She killed him, and failed Clayra with that one selfish act. Because she got herself exiled, her sister was forced to marry Gantik._

_Then Devnos…her adored older brother…. But she had been too hurt to see what was really happening. And_ he _died. He withered into something his younger, chip-less self would have hated, then died because she finally decided she_ had _to know the truth, and lafit the consequences._

_He died right in front of her._ Because _of her._

_And she did nothing._

_Zekk got put to trial, and sitting through it had left Jaina sobbing in Sanar's arms more than once._

_She had dismissed Jaina's anxiety about Perdita; now the red-haired_ niftyax _was "married" to the love of her sister's life._

_And now Veras…_

_Veras was dead._

_Just like Devnos._

_(And Daddy.)_

_In service of Prophecy, but dead because of_ her_. She brought death to the ones she cared about, and trouble to everyone. Maybe Jaina hadn't re-died yet, but with Sanar around…_

_It was only a matter of time_.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Gasping, Sanar woke and threw herself out of her sleeping pallet. She instinctively shoved her fist in her mouth to hold back her sobs. The last thing she needed was an awakened, and pitying, Krista.

With shaking hands, she grabbed her jacket before half-stumbling out of the tent. The night desert air nipped at her exposed skin. Sanar ignored it as she worked to get a handle back on her self-control.

The urge to be sick came strong, and she only managed to push it back when she was bent over the ground. She stayed on her hands and knees for several minutes.

_Just a dream_, she told herself. _It only has as much power over you as you let it._ Spitting out the taste of her gag, Sanar stood on still somewhat-unsteady legs.

_Disgusting_, she told herself. It was _disgusting_ that she could react this strongly to such a relatively pitiful nightmare. She had lived through far worse, after all. It had been a walk in the park compared to some of the things Horaire—

Stealthily, almost as if trying to hide it from even herself, Sanar reached out to Jaina. The younger woman was just falling asleep, and she poked back drowsily. Somehow feeling better (and how did that _work_?), Sanar withdrew a little. She settled herself at just the edges of her Sanar/Jaina part, though. The warmth that lay there helped push away her grief for Veras.

With most of her equilibrium regained, Sanar was about to return to her tent when she noticed that the campfire still burned. Someone—one of the men, judging by the stature—sat with his back to her. When she poked at his Force presence, the person turned around to look at her.

"Sanar." At her distance, his voice sounded like a whisper. "What—what are you…" He shook his head as if rejecting the question. Instead, he motioned for her to join him.

After a brief hesitation, she acquiesced. She probably _should_ talk to him at some point, after all. And if it got too personal, she could always plead temporary insanity from grief, and then run away screaming.

"Couldn't sleep?" Durron asked when she sat down across from him.

She let her eyes flick downward to where the Sildar lay across his lap. The dying fire made the metal gleam even more hellishly than usual. "Something like that," she muttered. "What are you doing up?"

He stared at the Sildar for a moment, then carefully set it down on the ground beside him. She didn't miss the way he winced. "Just…thinking." He grinned ruefully. "I do that, on occasion."

"About?" she pressed.

"Vengeance. Justice." He paused. "And the difference—or similarity—between them."

She snorted. "You know you've reached a certain age when…"

Strangely, he didn't rise to the bait—only stared at her until she became uncomfortable.

"Growing up the way I did…I know how guys think," she said.

Durron shook his head. "If you're comparing my entire gender—who make up roughly half of the galaxy's two-gender population—to several thousand people here, you obviously don't."

"Everyone has a beast in them," she replied, a tad defensively. "Even—" _Even I do_, she thought. But it was such an honest thought…one far more vulnerable than she had ever spoken to him. She caught it just before she let it escape. Instead, she settled on saying, "I know that better than anyone."

"I'm not arguing with that," he replied, just as seriously. "I—I have more than my share of inner demons. You know that." He paused, and might have given her look, but she resolutely avoided his eyes.

"I'm just saying…the Holy Brothers and their visions of the 'ideal' male attitude…they are _not_ those of every man, by any means. You don't expect it of—for example—Zekk, do you?"

The dark-haired woman snorted. "Well, of _course_ not. Jaina could more than handle him even if he _wasn't_ completely lovesick over her."

"But you trust him, don't you?" Kyp persisted. "With Jaina, and anyone else he may come across. You know he wouldn't put up with the ideologies of Pucijir's Order."

"Well…yeah, but Zekk is—"

"What about Garik?" he interrupted before she could give an excuse. "You trust _him_, right? What about Tiran? Braun? Han?"

She swallowed. "I guess."

"What about me?" he asked. This time, his gaze rested so heavily on her that she did look up.

Sanar knew the answer to that one:

_Yes. Mujir help me, somewhere along the line…_

She thought of saying it out loud—but she didn't. That would _definitely_ be too much.

"Who's the girl you're in love with?" she asked without warning.

Kyp's eyes goggled, and he rocked back in shock. "Wha—_What?_"

Her eyebrow raised in genuine amusement. "You okay there? You look like you just got a glimpse of yourself in the mirror."

He stared at her, green eyes still impossibly wide. "Wh-where did you…? Who told you I…?"

"What, like I couldn't figure it out on my own?" Sanar smirked. "You are _so_ transparent."

Kyp managed to blink. Quite the feat, for someone who acted like he'd just been told that Rafintair was actually a giant rubber chicken.

"Okay. I had no idea until Krista told me," she relented. "Everyone else has been really twitchy about it." Taking a little pity on him (nothing personal, of course—he just looked so horrified), she added, "No one will tell me who she is, though. Y'know, if it makes you feel any better. Even Jaina kept your secret."

Finally, he let out a long sigh. "By all the _gods_, Sanar."

"What?" She rolled her eyes. "Don't be such a drama queen. It's no big deal. People fall in love all the time, you know. Just give me a hint—like, her name. I'm not going to _hurt_ her, or anything."

"I never said you would."

"So _tell _me."

Kyp studied her for a moment before next speaking. "I'll answer one question—so long as it has nothing to do with her name—if you tell me who _you_ love." His voice became, strangely, harder. "Who is he? How do you know him?"

She rolled her eyes again. "That isn't a fair trade," she informed him, somewhat impatiently. "I'll tell you the _last_ one."

Sanar paused, then looked down at her hand. She only barely—foggily—understood why she needed to know about Kyp's ladylove. So why was she about to tell him something only Jaina knew? "I haven't…technically…met him in the flesh," she admitted. "I just—I mean…" Frustrated with something she had never had to explain, Sanar cursed. How could she say this without sounding completely _insane_? "Look. Ever since my dad died, this…guy…he's been in my dreams. I-it's consistent, and he never contradicts what's happened in previous dreams, and…he's not some figment of my imagination. He's _real_. And you…you know the other important stuff. He loves me. I love him." Almost expecting him to laugh at her, she raised her chin in defiance.

Kyp was silent for so long, she began to think he'd fallen asleep.

When he finally spoke, his voice was hoarse. "So, what's your question?"

She thought of asking him identity-revealing questions—_how did you meet, what does she look like, who's her family_.

Strangely, that didn't seem quite so important in this moment. Maybe if he had laughed at her, or called her crazy, she would have lashed out at him until he told her the truth. But, despite his odd reaction, Kyp had been respectful of her love.

"What would you do for her?"

Funny. She blurted it out before she even knew what she was saying. Why did it matter to her whether or not Kyp's love was genuine?

(_Rightful_.)

Kyp's hand dropped to the Sildar. He paused, but she didn't think it was out of uncertainty. "Anything," he said. "Everything."

She frowned. "Then what are you doing here? Why aren't you with _her_?"

Slowly, his trademark smirk appeared.

"What?" It took her a moment to recover from her surprise. "It's a reasonable question! If you're so—so devoted her, why aren't you with her, trying to protect her from the war's aftermath?"

The smirk just kept on growing.

"Unless—" She pulled out a ridiculous idea. "Are you in love with someone who _came_?" Her eyes widened. "Like, Krista? _Cerasy_? Is that why you agreed to let Cerasy stay behind? 'Cause then she'd be safe? Mujir, Kyp, she's married! And—"

Kyp stood, his hand firmly on the Sildar's pommel. His eyes—

(_somewhere deep, deep inside…she knew those eyes better than her own_)

—danced with mischief. "You got your one question, Sanar."

"Hey!" she protested. "I told you practically everything. The least you could do is answer _one_ of those questions."

His grin had faded, but he sat down again. This time, he was closer to her—still slanted away, but…

"You know her," he confessed after a moment, interrupting her thoughts. "If I told you much more, you _would_ know everything."

"Does Jaina know?"

Kyp laughed. "Of course she does. She knows way more about the people around her than is healthy. Resurrected, remember?"

"So are you," she retorted. "I thought that sort of levelled the playing ground."

He hesitated. "Jaina's situation…varies from mine. She is less changed, yet far more so. It marked her life, but not." His hand tightened on the Sildar. "She was brought back, and kept here, by love, and unbroken ties. I…"

_You were brought back for and by Prophecy_, she silently finished. But what would happen, after?

Another thought sucker-punched her, even before she could really wonder about Kyp's situation.

Jaina was brought back by her ties to, first and foremost, Zekk.

(_And Sanar_, her heart insisted.)

What could that mean? If Zekk turned out to be what Sanar had expected five years ago, and not what she knew him to be now…if he turned his back on Jaina… Would that mean anything? Would it mean more than even Jaina's broken heart? _Oh, Larifx, what if—_

Sanar's gut tightened, and she couldn't help racing into her bond with Jaina. She wouldn't let it happen…_not to Jaina_. Somehow, she'd tie Jaina close enough to keep her safe and strong, and—

"Don't." Kyp's voice, although firm, was gentle. Just like the hand he placed on her arm. "Sanar, you needn't worry about Jaina—at least, no more than normal. You and she are made out of the same stuff. She'll make it through just about anything."

Sanar blinked back unexpected tears, both at the thought of losing Jaina, and at his surprisingly tender reassurances. "I can't lose her," Sanar whispered. "Mujir, if—"

"You won't lose her." He shifted closer to the Na'Lein woman, and his hand moved from her arm to her back. "No matter _what_ happens… She will always be there. For you and Zekk, especially, if for no other reason than that the three of you literally share pieces of your souls. You and Jaina in particular."

"But what if—" She stumbled. "I—I mean…"

He just continued to watch her.

She had the sudden realization of who she was talking to, and it brought her above her grief for a second. Wasn't she trying to _avoid_ Durron? Didn't part of her find it ghastly to trust him with her vulnerability? Mujir, it was _Durron_—that…that was supposed to…mean something, right? _Right_?

But this time she couldn't stop the words from escaping. "I've—I've done…so many unforgivable things." She pressed her lips together in a way that was supposed to be a smile. It came out a grimace. "Maybe not as many as you, but…" The tide of her emotional exhaustion rose. "I-is this my punishment, do you think?"

He jerked back to stare at her in astonishment. "_What_?"

"People I care about keep dying," she explained as she desperately clung to the last shreds of her pride. "My dad, Devnos…now Veras… How much longer until Clayra or—" Her voice broke. "O-or _Jaina_… Maybe it's my fault."

Kyp's reaction was slow from his shock, but it soon morphed into a peculiar shade of fury. "Where the hell did you get an insane idea like that?" he demanded.

She didn't look at him, but fidgeted nervously. "I wasn't strong enough," she whispered. "I'm…I'm supposed to be the strong one, the one who looks out for everybody. But I keep…failing everyone—Daddy, Devnos, Veras…"

"You are _failing_ no one," Kyp snapped, his voice sharpened with something akin to desperation. "Who told you that?" When she didn't answer, he moved so he was right in front of her. His face was tight with anger, but not for her. "You couldn't possibly think…"

When she spoke, Sanar's voice was so small she barely recognized it. "They don't need me anymore."

"Who doesn't?"

"Anyone. They all… I'm useless." She swallowed hard. "When I was little, I had the visions and everything—if someone lost something, they'd come to me to see if I knew where it was. I usually did. Then—when Daddy died—Clayra needed me. It didn't matter what Horaire did to me…what he put me through, it didn't hurt…because Clayra _needed_ me.

"But now…" She took a shuddering breath, expelling it quickly and cursing silently as she felt a few tears leak from her eyes. "No one needs me. Devnos is dead because I was blind; Clayra has _Gantik_, of all people. Jaina…" she hesitated briefly, "she doesn't need me—leastways, I need her more. If no one needs me, why am I here? _Why_?" A sob broke free, and she covered her face, humiliated that she was falling apart in front of Kyp.

Crying in front of Jaina and spilling secrets to her was one thing; Kyp was… She had hated him for so long, even past the point where she gave up on thinking he was to blame. But he was also the Kavishka, a being that she had always loved, from her childhood. She tried to make herself stop—she used her anger, her bitterness, everything she had—but still the lafit tears kept drip-dripping down from her eyes, making marks on her face, trailing down her neck and nestling in her collar bone.

Rough hands wiped the wetness away, the touch painstakingly gentle despite the skin's rough texture. Arms came around her, pulling her in close, and she breathed in the smell of earth, soap, sweat and spices. She didn't try to identify the person by the scent—didn't even let herself think of them—only worked to pull herself back together.

_Big girls don't cry._

_But what if they aren't needed? Does it matter then, what big girls do?_

"I need you," the embrace's voice whispered, and she barely caught it.

But it meant everything that she had, and that he had said it—even if it wasn't true.

She was just letting herself fall into him when Kyp's arms suddenly tightened around her. Where before his embrace had been comforting, it suddenly became secure—steel bands meant to keep her safe, never mind that she could well-defend herself.

Years of experience had her immediately stiffening, and halting her tears. The time to give in had clearly passed. Although she didn't physically move, Sanar was separated from Durron. Her body tensed, preparing to fight or flee, depending on the odds. Her eyes narrowed as she scanned as far as she could without moving. She listened carefully for any—

The sound of feet sliding down a sandy slope—across from their makeshift campsite.

Ever so slowly, Durron began to move away from her.

Half a shadow—there—caught by Clayra and Gantik's tent, and only barely within the light of the moon and the fire.

The Kavishka's grip tightened on the Sildar. He did not make any sign of discomfort, but Sanar knew it hurt.

(_How?_)

Close to her own, she felt his heart speed up. She wondered if it was just the normal pre-fight adrenaline…or the Sildar, calling gleefully for blood.

"She said we would find you here."

And suddenly, a woman stood before them. She spoke in Basic, though with the heavy accent that Sanar had only mostly discarded over the past decade. She wore a dark veil, which covered most of her face and neck, though not in any way her eyes.

Durron had stayed his hand in confusion—it seemed rather unlikely that Rafintair would send a female assassin.

Carefully, Sanar detangled herself from Durron. She stood with slow ease, despite her adrenaline-filled body's desire to attack. She may have gone from half-breaking down in Kyp Durron's arms, to facing off with a possible threat, but she wasn't stupid. At least, not _that_ stupid. She'd heard the stories, the same as anyone else from NLY.

"She?" Sanar cautiously asked.

"Niha." The woman smiled. The light of the dying fire caught the darkness of her eyes. "The mother."

Sanar almost choked. Her face paled, and her eyes widened. "Who—"

"My name is Dejah." The woman tipped her head in respect before removing her veil. "And I am here to bring you to the haven."

Between Kyp, Sanar, and their intruder, the fire sparked. When it calmed once again, six more women had arranged themselves in a semi-circle around Dejah.

All wore the garments of Mujir's servants.


	90. Ch22: Still Time

**Chapter Twenty-Two: Still Time**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

When Lera glanced up, Nichyn was still sketching. At least, she assumed that was what he was doing. He never shared the drawings with her, nor had he even confirmed it. Of course, she hasn't come out and _asked_ him about it yet. The look on his face implied it was…personal. It was something he wasn't yet willing to share.

The Hapan girl sighed and returned her eyes to her own pieces of flimsi. She could understand Nichyn's wariness. After all, she hadn't exactly been totally honest, herself.

_Not that she didn't want to be_.

But she couldn't tell Nichyn—or Arelyk, or Shanya—not unless it became necessary. That wouldn't be happening for at _least_ another long while.

Devnos' solution had been for her to use Nichyn's com-link to warn Clayra, who would then hopefully warn Sanar. Devnos sort of…_slid_ into Lera's mind, directing her into scribbling what he needed to say. It had taken a period of adjustment as Lera tried to get used to the feeling of another person in her head. Once that was accomplished, however, she'd found herself over-sensitive when anyone—not just Devnos—brushed against her mind. Every time Shanya or Arelyk tried to check on her aura, Lera had to consciously decide to not jump. It was yet another thing to get used to.

But even beyond that, scribing for someone was not quite the norm when the 'someone' was on a fatal kind of probation. It took hours for Lera to pen a sentence of warning, and even that was pushing it. Devnos, for all his desperation to save Sanar, had not figured out _what_ to say to her. It wasn't exactly the easiest thing to warn someone about—knowing what Lera did, the girl would be surprised if Sanar believed she would do what Prophecy had said she would. The role didn't _fit_ yet.

At least they had some time, Lera comforted herself. They had months to plan exactly how to convince Sanar, and make things better.

They could still fix things. Lera knew—nothing was hopeless.

…_Except_, she thought, grinning, _maybe the legibility of Devnos' writing_.

Nichyn suddenly shifted, catching her attention. She raised her eyes to meet his grey ones. "Hey," she said. Without her noticing, a half-smile lit up her face.

"What are you writing?"

Lera folded the pieces of flimsi she had been trying to decipher. There was still time enough for this later. After stuffing the pages into her bag, she minimized the data-window she had been writing in. "Oh, stuff," she replied vaguely. "Bits of a story, and info on the characters." She and Nichyn were waiting for the others—Arelyk, Jolesp, Hasi and Zuleika—to show up for the first official meeting about their next "big holo" vid.

Curiosity kindled in Nichyn's gaze as he put his sketch inside the cover of one of his textbooks. "How is the holo-vid story coming along?" Almost as an afterthought (except she thought that maybe she was never an afterthought to Nichyn), he caught her hand and tugged her to his side.

Grinning, she sat beside him on the couch and leaned towards him. Her new friend had finally met Jolesp a few weeks ago, and the director seemed to have infected Nichyn with his holo-vid enthusiasm. Since then, Nichyn had been asking after all their previously-made vids. With Nichyn studying at home until the next school year, he shared Lera's more relaxed schedule; they had often taken a break from textbooks to go over one of Jolesp's projects.

"So?" he prodded now. His right arm, the one closest to her, lay across the top of the couch. It was, she thought, rather convenient for head-resting.

"I finished all the planning," she told him. "Now it's mostly just translating it into the script—it'll be rather different from my novel." She made a face. "Especially with Zuleika playing Lacane."

"Can I read what you have so far?"

Despite their increasing closeness over the past few weeks, Lera felt the usual nervousness that came when someone asked to read a piece of her soul for the first time. "Um. W-well, I-I haven't…" She swallowed, and forced her head to clear. It was _Nichyn_. "I haven't written very much of the script yet. A few scenes, sure, but mostly I'm just finishing up the planning."

Nichyn put his textbook—the same one holding his sketch—on the ground, to the left of them. That safe, he shifted just a little closer to her. "Will you tell me what it's about?"

He must have noticed her earlier anxiety—probably even her lie about what she had been writing. The concern in his eyes made her feel guilty. She never wanted him to be upset because of _her_.

"Lera?"

She gave him her friendliest, of-course-I-trust-you smile. "Okay, but it's going to be a little jumbled. I haven't really explained it to anyone else yet."

"What about Jolesp?"

The girl waved her hand dismissively. "Jolesp and I have been making holo-vids together for years. He trusts me to write something he can do." She didn't add that _usually_ she told Arelyk all about her stories. This wasn't usually, and she hadn't described it to her best friend.

Nichyn's lips quirked upward before he managed to restrain the smile. But his concern had been replaced with warm interest.

Lera glowed. Then she blushed _because_ she had glowed. Usually, only Arelyk…

"W-well, it—the story takes place during the First Imperial War. About, uh, fifteen years in. There's, um—the two main characters are Saja and Lacane. They're—well, they're _very_ different. Saja grew up in Coruscant's lower levels; her life up to the story has been just… Lacane grew up surrounded by heroes trying to stay under the Imperial radar until the best time to strike."

"Who is playing who?"

Lera frowned in momentary confusion. "Who's— Oh. Acting. Uh, Zuleika is playing Lacane, and Hasi is portraying Saja. I don't think you've really met Hasi yet," Lera said at Nichyn's expression. "But—she's, uh, she's really…talented."

Nichyn raised an eyebrow, as if he had heard all Lera hadn't said about Miss Hasi Ov. "I suppose that is a good thing."

"She's—well—" Lera stumbled. Hasi, more than the usual things, made her do that a lot. "Hasi and Zuleika are…friends. Kind of." She winced. "You'll see."

He let it slide for the moment. "Who are the other characters?"

"Well, Arelyk is playing Harris, Lacane's brother." Lera couldn't help her grin. "Zuleika's ecstatic—usually he has to play a love interest, which 'always grosses her out,' even when it's opposite Hasi.

"Jolesp will probably play a few small parts—mostly he'll be filming, though. And—and you're playing Kalis." A teasing look in her eyes, she poked Nichyn in his side. "I hope you're ready to kiss Zuleika." Her grin widened. "_And_ Hasi."

His expression froze. "I— _What_?

The dawning panic in his eyes had Lera collapsing against him in giggles. "Oh—Nichyn—" She tried to stifle her laughter in his side. "The look—on your face—"

He stared down at her for a moment, caught between a variety of feelings. Warmth that she was laughing because of _him_. Embarrassment because she had clearly expected—and now delighted in—his reaction. Panic—_she had written a situation where he had to kiss Zuleika?_

This reaction showed in his tentative half-smile. "You're— Why do I…?"

Lera managed to pull herself together enough to look up at him. Although a grin still stretched across her face, her giggles had mostly dissipated. "Zuleika wanted me to write some kind of love triangle, for once." She rolled her eyes. "And since both Jolesp and Arelyk are 'only to be used in emergency situations'… You get to be Kalis."

The dark-haired teen groaned. "Lera…"

She sat up; her mud eyes regarded him carefully. "You won't actually be kissing them," she told him. "Not on the lips, at least. Apparently, there's some…technique, or move, or something…that makes it look like you are when you aren't. Kissing, I mean." She blushed.

Feeling only a little better, Nichyn nevertheless added it to his list of things to worry about later. "So, who are you playing?"

"Oh." She pulled her knees up on the couch. "Um, I'm a secondary character named Janeel. She's Saja's younger sister." Lera's cheeks tinged pink. "She doesn't talk much, but she's the only person Saja cares for, before she meets Lacane and—later—Kalis."

"So, if I have to learn the sound and recording technology…" Nichyn gave her a look. The one that so clearly said, _And who's bright idea was_ that? "…what off-camera job do you have?"

"My dear fellow," a voice interrupted. "_Lera_ is my blushing angel." A moment, and several soft, tell-tale _thumps_ later, Jolesp entered the living room.

The young director grinned at both of them as he sat—awkwardly, as always—in the chair across from them. "Nichyn. Angel."

Lera stuck her tongue out at him, but made no move to greet him with their usual hug. She had a feeling embarrassment was on its way, and she felt perfectly comfortable where she was.

(_with Nichyn_)

Nichyn smiled at her, and this time she didn't blush. Some kernel of understanding she had just found now made it seem silly to be shy around him. Briefly forever, she held his gaze.

Then she turned back to Jolesp. "Hi, esp-Jol."

"asina-Ler," he rejoined playfully. With a well-practiced movement, the teenager dragged his right leg into a more comfortable position.

Despite his affluent family name, Jolesp _looked_ like the stereotypical humanoid geek. Jolesp was lanky—almost bony—with a thick mop of electric blue hair, and few would miss his Zaggalin heritage. Because of it, the left side of his face, neck and torso was naturally painted with a spiderweb of raised, violet veins. The clothes he wore were always an interesting mix of film buff/geek shirts, and a lovingly picked out "Mom wardrobe."

What had kept him inside with Lera, however, was his twisted leg—the consequence of an unfortunate childhood accident that even bacta couldn't fix. Not even Gallinore children were completely safe from the Second Imperial War.

From the way he constantly gave off an "ultimate holo-maker high," however, no one would think Jolesp had _settled_ when he gave up suddenly problematic sports.

"As I was saying," the holo enthusiast said now, "I couldn't _possibly_ make a movie without our darling Lerasina. After all, even _my_ genius can only make so much happen. Lera knows me." He patted her on the knee as if she was a particularly bright child who'd given the right answer. "Never mind the writing—which, I admit, is quite beyond me. She co-directs, coaches the actors…even the actresses, when she can stand up against two _helsix_ girls we know. And—the best part—she sweet-talks Shanya into giving us extra snacks." Jolesp beamed.

Lera went scarlet, and peeked at Nichyn out of the corner of her eye. It almost looked like she was thinking of diving back into Nichyn's side to hide. "I write, th-that's all," she muttered. "A-and try t-to protect my story's virtue fr-from bad acting."

"Aw, look at that blush," Jolesp teased. "A little too dark for an actress, I'm afraid—really, you're turning splotchy. But that's why you're the first—not the last—to touch the script."

She threw a pillow at his face. "Where are the others?"

"They're coming." Jolesp huffed. "_Slowly_," he added, more impatiently.

"Are we starting the filming today?" Nichyn asked, still unclear on what had become second nature to the original group of Gallinore teens.

"No," Lera quickly answered. She jumped in before Jolesp could. "Everyone still has to go over the scripts—or the characters and plot, at least. We probably won't start filming for another month or so."

"Hmph," Jolesp grumbled. "Pushing art…"

Lera shared a look with Nichyn, but grinned at her overzealous friend. "I suppose I should tell you now that I'm sticking with _my_ ending?" she suggested.

"The happy one?" Jolesp's expression twisted, and he made a strange _querrick_ sound in the back of his throat.

Lera raised an eyebrow. "So far? Yeah, it's looking that way."

Before Jolesp could say anything more, the trio became aware of two female voices approaching the room.

"All I'm saying is, Staven is Class A, but I just don't see him in your future," said the first voice. Hasi. "Even your quick-trip-to-the-supplies-room future. I mean, really, Zuleika. He's far too…serious. Deep, almost. It would never work."

Lera could almost _hear_ Zuleika bristle. "Oh, really? This wouldn't have anything to do with the fact that, despite your best efforts, he couldn't keep his eyes off of me in Galactic Civilizations, would it?"

"_Really_, dear. Of course he was _looking_ at you. He's just a boy, after all, and you were practically offering to—"

"Come on in!" Lera quickly interrupted. Her eyes were wide, and her face flushed. "We're ready to hand out parts. Character roles, I mean."

There was a moment of silence, as if the two slightly older girls were locked in a staring contest. Then Hasi entered the room, followed closely by Zuleika.

Lera resisted the urge to look at Nichyn—she was pretty sure she knew what his reaction to Hasi would be. The dark-haired, dark-skinned beauty prided herself on drawing male attention. Especially if another girl was in the room. Especially if _Zuleika_ was in the room.

To be fair, though, Zuleika tried to do the same.

"So, you're my new tall, dark and handsome, are you?" Hasi almost purred as she came around the couch. Without warning, she leaned in and kissed Nichyn firmly on the lips.

She pulled away before anyone—least of all Nichyn—could react. "Hmm," she said out loud. "Tastes like a first kiss, boyo. Hope you weren't planning on keeping that."

After nearly six years of knowing Zuleika's best friend, Lera rarely let herself react to Hasi's games. She usually sat still, kept quiet, and hoped the other girl would move on—either from her, or even before Hasi noticed Lera still existed.

This, apparently, wasn't "usually."

"What the _kriff_, Hasi!" the writer snapped, shooting to her feet. "Leave him alone."

Surprise at Lera's reaction flickered across Hasi's face before the older girl rearranged it into cool amusement. "What's wrong, Lera?" She made a show of looking at Nichyn, then back to Lera, with wide eyes. "Oh," she pretended to realize. "The kiss?" Hasi smiled, and there was something curious, and amused, and smug about it. "I just thought our first kiss shouldn't be on-screen. Now, don't scowl so, Lera. Your generally amiable expression is one of your…few…physically attractive features." The smile suggested something else entirely.

Beside her, Lera felt Nichyn stiffen. But the girl herself only rolled her eyes. "So?" she retorted. "If beauty makes you act the way you do, then I _like_ being ugly."

Nichyn stood as abruptly as his friend had, moments before. "Lera—"

But Hasi, affording the writer's insult only an amused laugh, interrupted him. "Ugly?" she repeated. "No. Just plain, Lera. Usually."

Somehow, the concession of stark truth hit Lera harder than the earlier implication. She flinched, but held her ground for just a little longer. Hasi had still embarrassed Nichyn. _Nichyn_, who didn't understand half their customs, who sometimes still struggled with their language, who was trying so hard to adjust to it all without revealing his homesickness. Nichyn, who…somehow…knew part of Lera that she had let no one else see—and vice versa.

"I don't care," she told the snobby girl. Slowly, she sat back down; Nichyn copied her after a chilly pause. "Just leave us out of your stupid competition with Zuleika."

Hasi looked ready to pounce on Lera's demand, but a glance at Nichyn (whom Lera still hadn't looked at since Hasi's entrance) stopped her for whatever reason. Instead, she said only, "Oh, Lera."

Zuleika had been watching the exchange with her own, rather unsubtle, mix of emotions—smugness, amusement, curiosity, and some anger. At the argument's apparent conclusion, she dramatically rolled her eyes. "Now that _that's_ over and done with. Force, Hasi. Don't you know better than to kiss a guy in front of his girlfriend? He might actually realize, in comparison, that he prefers _personality_."

Lera frowned. _In front of his— Oh_, kriff. She tried to sink deep into the couch, and hide from even Nichyn. Maybe he wouldn't ask—

"Lera?" he whispered down to where she had burrowed in his side. She didn't need to look at his face to know his expression was faintly confused and self-conscious. "What are they talking about? Girlfriend? Is—is there another meaning for that term?"

"It's nothing," she squeaked.

Just like when she was four and trying to deal with playground bullies, Arelyk was her saviour. He came ambling through the door, all of his usual timeliness in place. With a raised eyebrow, he took in the scene his still-arguing sister and her friend were making. "What did I miss?" he asked. It wasn't specifically directed to anyone, but Lera snatched it as her—or, rather, _Nichyn's_—distraction.

"Nothing," she hurriedly repeated. "Zuleika are just being—you know—them."

He shrugged, but no doubt noticed Nichyn's perplexed expression, and Lera's discomfort. "If you're sure."

Lera averted her eyes. "Let's just get through this meeting."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

After the meeting, Nichyn and Arelyk had gone to Jolesp's house; Nichyn was in for a much-needed introduction to the sound/recording equipment. Lera would have gone in Arelyk's place, but she had already scheduled her Language & Literature test. Lera had decided to stay at the Ryms' house until her father picked her up; Arelyk reminded her only to lock up before she left.

She hadn't planned it, but the situation gave her a chance to scout out the location of Nichyn's com-link—the one that Lera would, hopefully, use to warn Clayra. She just needed the location, so she'd know where it was when the time came.

She struggled with her guilt for a moment before slipping into Nichyn's empty room.

The dark-haired teenager had been living in the Ryms' home for months now, but it was still neat and austere. His walls remained bare of any posters or holo-images. His bed was made, and the floor swept. The desk was kept generally tidy; data-pads and textbooks were carefully arranged against the wall in easy reach.

Arelyk had once casually remarked that Nichyn gave nothing away, if he could help it—and, in his room, Nichyn could more than help it. Lera, however, had long since realized that Nichyn (intentionally or otherwise) left more clues for her than he did for others. (Or maybe she just knew what to look for?)

The room confirmed the danger in Nichyn's life before he came to Gallinore. He kept personal items hidden away; Nichyn was well aware that anything—no matter how innocent—could reveal an exploitable weakness. Yet, she'd seen his appreciation when he first walked into the room; Nichyn liked the earthy colors. He would never be completely comfortable in a heavily industrialized area, surrounded by technology.

And she knew he kept a box of papers (which she had only glimpsed, but assumed were drawings) under his bed. If Lera knew where they were, then so would any of Nichyn's Na'Lein enemies—that, more than anything, told her he was beginning to feel safe.

Stifling the temptation to sneak a peek at the sketches, Lera quickly searched her friend's room. There were only so many places Nichyn could hide anything in his room. At least, only a few that she'd know where to look. The closet was out—Lera had stayed in this room, herself, when it was still just a guest room. It offered pitifully little space, and no shelves out of sight.

First: a quick check in the drawers—nothing obtrusive, nothing more than she would do if he was right there beside her. Next: the surfaces—desk, bureau, and between textbooks.

She did not find the com-link.

Lera's shoulders snagged a little in disappointment before she reminded herself that it didn't matter yet. There was still time enough and more. She didn't even have a compete _message_ yet.

She started to head outside to wait for her dad, then stopped. _Closet_, she thought. Well, it couldn't hurt. However unlikely, however unfit for hiding things it was, Nichyn had had years of practice in hiding. Maybe he'd found a spot that she and Arelyk had missed.

Glancing at her chrono, she quickly estimated how much more time she had. Five minutes until she should have her butt on the porch—her university professor father would throw a fit if he realized she hadn't spent this extra time studying Lady Valmine Shaq'pare.

Five minutes. It'd more than do.

The closet, like Nichyn's room, was mostly bare. More so, even, as he used it to hold only a few articles of clothing. Two jackets, and one foreign outfit that looked too big for Nichyn. She stared at the latter for a moment, before pushing away the thoughts it incited.

As she had predicted, her search was completed within a minute, and turned out to be fruitless. _Better to just ask him, when the message needs to get sent_. Lera winced. "Won't that be a fun conversation," she muttered. "'Hey, Nichyn, can I borrow your com-link? You know, the one with your mother on the other end?' 'Why?' 'Oh, it's just, your dead uncle and I have to warn your estranged aunt about Prophecy before it eats her.' 'Oh, well, in that case…'"

She was just about to shut the closet door when she noticed a piece of flimsi on the floor. Curious, she bent to pick it up. Between her fingers, she could tell the quality was extremely poor—she used better flimsi for her mathematics notes—and Lera unconsciously wrinkled her nose.

After her exam, maybe she'd talk her dad into stopping at one of the stores. She distractedly tried to remember when Nichyn's lifeday was, or if the purchase she had in mind could be excused for some anniversary or another…

Standing, she flipped the flimsi over to get a look at it.

An older woman—perhaps in her forties, but Lera had never been a good judge of age—stared back at her. It only took the girl a minute to realize it was Nichyn's mother.


	91. Ch23: Hold On

**Chapter Twenty-Three: Hold On**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_Hold on  
Hold on to yourself  
For this is gonna hurt like hell  
Hold on  
Hold on to yourself  
You know that only time will tell  
What is it in me that refuses to believe  
This isn't easier than the real thing  
My love  
You know that you're my best friend  
You know I'd do anything for you  
My love  
Let nothing come between us  
My love for you is strong and true_

_Am I in heaven here or am I...  
At the crossroads I am standing  
So now you're sleeping peaceful  
I lie awake and pray  
That you'll be strong tomorrow and we'll  
See another day and we will praise it  
And love the light that brings a smile  
Across your face_

"Hold On" by Sarah McLachlan

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_The pain had knocked her to the ground; the grief screamed in her ears._

_She was—_

_Empty. Overflowing. Shrieking. Exploding._

_Lost._

Daddy—Daddy is…

Shh, quiet. Don't think it, don't think, don't. Everything is fine, everything will be okay—he promised. He _promised._

_A storm raged around her—the worst she'd ever seen, one she had conjured herself. Lightning struck near, and thunder rumbled even louder than her heart's screams._

Good—good, then. Be lost in the storm, not the grief, because it can't be true. Can't be true, never was, never will be; he's still here, still—not dead. Just a nightmare; wake up and

(no, don't)

see it's not real

(it is)

and stop.

(She'll never stop.)

_The lupine-wind howled as the sleet knifed through her clothes, until the blood pounded against her skin, pounded raw near-to-bleeding._

_Then she heard the sobbing—hopeless, gut-wrenching, everything-is-desolate sobbing.  
_  
Shh…. Quiet. Nothing happened, there's no reason to cry.

_She wiped her eyes viciously, only just remembering to close them first. She held her breath, trying to stop her shoulders from shaking, and her chest from heaving in silent sobs.  
_  
Silent.

_She released the breath she had been holding as she realized—_

_She was not the one whose sobbing could be heard over the storm._ She _still had—_

(not Daddy)

_—Devnos and Clayra and the stories. But the one crying…had nothing._

_Slowly, she made her legs hold her, and she then stood. She could do this—_

(because nothing's wrong, nothing)

_—she could find the other person. That, at least, she could still do._

_Lightning struck around her—beside her, just behind her. Thunder rolled and rumbled over her head, and she felt its echo in the ground. Blinding and stinging, the rain cascaded from the sky as she stepped through puddles. She stumbled but she did not falter. Storms were her specialty._

(I chose your name: Sanar. Storm-fighter. Your mother said it was only luck, but I knew. I always knew.)

_She found them at last, a huddled mass of guilt and grief and desperation. The rain (_tears_) had soaked them to the bone; she wondered if they would ever dry._

_The thunder grew louder; the lightning at her feet more malicious; and then both receded until only the rain and the other's sobs broke the quiet._

_She approached the being carefully. It struck her, suddenly, that he might not want her present as he grieved. Had she not spurned Devnos' attempts to hold her, his reassurances that somehow—somehow—they'd make it, and he'd never let anything bad happen to her? Had she not run when Uncle Iplan tried to comfort her with Mujir's teachings of Heaven?_

(But that was different, wasn't it? Because—because it wasn't true. It was a trick, and anytime now Daddy would jump out and—)

_At war with herself—_

(No, this was right)

_—she did not decrease the distance between them. Just as she was about to turn away, though, the other suddenly looked up, and she was lost._

(Forever, you and I.

Lost.

Always.)

_Her companion in the storm was a—_

(dark man, sad man)

_—boy, not much older than her brother. But his eyes were old—desecrated. Raped of the last shreds of innocence, and spiralling into his own Darkness._

_"Please," he whispered. Begged. "Please."_

_Two steps brought her to him, and she crouched next to him. "Hush," she replied. Very gently—_

(someday, Sanar, you will be a lady. someday, you must be soft

mama, you don't know how I can be)

_—she pushed some of his hair out of his eyes. "Always," she vowed._

_For a second, she saw him; for an eternity, she found the one for whom she would wait a lifetime._

_There would never be another—none true._

_But she would not recall his face in the morning, and she would never remember his name. Not even when she, herself, spoke it in the most loving—the most desperate—of prayers._

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar couldn't stop rubber-necking it. She tried to stop, and it was a valiant effort, but it never lasted.

She was walking through the halls of an abbey—perhaps the only remaining abbey dedicated to Mujir on NLY. And it wasn't abandoned or pillaged; tapestries hung from the walls, and the way was brightly lit with fire—candles and blazing hearths.

Dejah led them, but kept mostly silent. Upon descending into the underground abbey, she had ordered the other women to complete various tasks. The words were Na'Lein, but twisted just slightly, and Sanar had had to focus to understand them. Something about rooms, clothes, and—thank Mujir—food. She had not, however, spoken to the ones who followed her, nor had she answered their questions.

"Dejah," Sanar now tried again, "where are you taking us?"

Dejah glanced at Sanar over her shoulder, but did not stop. "You will see soon enough."

Sanar rolled her eyes—that probably meant they were going to be stuck in rooms. Which, granted, everyone else seemed impatient to use for some much-needed sleep. Gantik was practically carrying Clayra (who, Sanar noticed, was _not_ asleep, despite her pretence); Braun looked ready to collapse. Even Krista and Miko—both trained to conserve their energy for long periods of time until they could grab a quick nap—were leaning into each other with drooping eyes.

Kyp picked up on her impatience and stepped closer to Sanar. "We'll wrangle explanations out of them tomorrow," he quietly assured her. "We have time."

She glanced up at him irritably. "More waiting on top of a lifetime spent thinking this was all a—a bedtime story. Something long dead. This is—it's more than I ever hoped to find here…and I'm being shown the sleeping quarters."

She knew without looking that Kyp was smirking at her. "Life sucks sometimes, doesn't it?" he sympathized. His voice sounded ironic.

The petite woman snorted. "Sometimes," she agreed sarcastically.

As they rounded a corner, Dejah spoke. "Niha will meet with you in the morning. Until then," she gestured about her, "you may occupy the rooms down this corridor. Food will be brought along shortly." Without further ado, Dejah turned on her heel and disappeared around the bend.

"I'm trying to decide which sounds better right now," Miko mused out loud. "Food or sleep?"

Krista snorted. "I think you mean—food or a shower? If this place has hot water, I am so converting to…Mujir-ism."

Sanar didn't bother to correct the younger girl on the name of her father's faith, but she did say, "That might require a sacrifice, Kris. What if they ask you to give up boys?"

Krista caught on quickly. In mock-horror, her hands rose to her cheeks, and her jaw dropped. "But, Sanar! _Boys_? How cruel!" She grinned impishly. "No wonder Dejah was so snippy."

Braun shook his head despairingly. "And the exhaustion has set in. I'll turn in now, before you start cackling madly."

"'Night, Braun," Krista responded quickly before continuing. "So, what's up with Dejah, do you think? How much longer before she explodes from the frustration?"

"Dejah's a fighter," Sanar explained, remembering the woman's tightly-controlled demeanour. "Not a spiritual follower of this abbey. She's used to a lot more action than she's probably getting here. And, Kris—I used to be part of Mujir's Resistance, if that tells you anything about their views on men. Most of the females prefer being 'frustrated' to the alternative."

"Force, what a planet," the blond girl muttered with a roll of her eyes. "Whatever you do, do _not_ mention such creatures to my brothers. They'll think it's possible to change me."

Ignoring Krista, Gantik said, "That's quite the understatement you made, Sanar." He sounded amused.

"I hardly think you're a good judge of that," Sanar drawled, setting her expression as insincerely wide-eyed. "MR fighters can smell a rat faster than even I could. No doubt they know better than to ever let down their guard around you."

Gantik's smile became strained, but just as quickly transformed into one slightly mocking. "I suppose you'd know."

Before she—or Kyp, who looked surlier than ever—could reply, Gantik shifted his hold on Clayra. "I think we'll follow Braun's example. Goodnight—Kyp, Reglia, Kris." He met Sanar's eyes over her sister's curled form. He winked. "Ice princess."

Once the door shut behind the Whilems, Miko said, "You know he's just doing it to prove he can still affect you."

"I know," Sanar acknowledged through clenched teeth. "Unfortunately—" She stopped. "Leave your doors open if you want food. I'll see you all in the morning."

Kyp watched her carefully while she stomped through the door to the left of the one Gantik had claimed. It could have been simply exhaustion—they had, after all, barely rested since the fight with the Holy Brothers—but she seemed a touch off. No doubt, it was a lingering effect of her earlier, small breakdown.

When Sanar had disappeared, Kyp turned to Miko. "It'll probably be an early morning," he told his once-apprentice. "Don't do anything I wouldn't—" He paused, thought about what he was saying, and corrected his course. "Don't do any of the extreme or 'typically Durron' things I'd do."

As Kyp turned to claim the room next to Sanar's, he heard Krista giggle. "And don't make faces at me," the Kavishka added without looking back. "Your face is likely to get stuck that way."

Miko's mental reply was something along the lines of, _Cool!_

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"Yours has two beds too, huh?"

Miko looked up at Krista with no surprise at her sudden appearance in "his" room. "I'm fairly certain they all do," he remarked. He looked down at the sturdy cot he was sitting on as he picked at his food. A young girl—perhaps thirteen—had dropped off a tray of it about ten minutes before Krista's arrival. "It's more economical."

As she sat down on the bed across from him, Krista slid his tray over to make room for her own. "Mind if I join you? Thanks. So, how does it feel?"

The former Dark Jedi had had years of practice following Krista's way of carrying and dismissing several topics in a moment. "Of course not. You're welcome. And…about what? The abbey? I'm really too tired to—"

"No, not the _abbey_." The blonde rolled her eyes dramatically. "About the fact that you're probably the first guy _ever_ to sleep in this room."

He raised an eyebrow. "Oh, Kris, I feel _so_ lucky," he deadpanned. "Really, I do. You must know how it thrills me. Oh, how it fills me with male pride! My testosterone level is ricocheting to levels previously unseen."

She made a face at him, but the expression soon dissolved into giggles. "Not bad, Miko. Remember when you used to blush like crazy every time I brought up something…suggestive? You've come a long way."

"Well, that one was a really lame attempt on your part."

Krista laughed, then nearly fell face-first into her bowl of porridge. Miko reached across the space between "their" beds just in time to catch her shoulders. Carefully, he set his tray aside, and then moved to sit next to her.

"I am so tired," she muttered.

He smiled wanly, and rubbed her arm. "Well, then, finish your porridge if you can, and get to bed."

With a clatter, she dropped her spoon into her porridge. She stared at it for a long moment, then sighed and nudged the bowl away. "Force."

Miko's head shot up at her whimper. "Kris? What is it?"

"Can I stay here tonight?" she blurted out. With red-stained cheeks, she practically tripped over the words in her haste. "I—I mean, not…not _here_ as in—as in, you know—but I mean, in the other bed. I just— Please?"

Miko blinked, checked her expression for any teasing, then frowned. "I—well, of course you can, but…why? What's wrong?"

"I-it's just…" And now she looked increasingly flustered and upset. "I—I don't…really like…staying in strange places anymore. Not alone. Not in the dark."

Miko glanced around, only now realizing that the bare, crisp room could resemble a cell. "Kris…." He took her hand in his.

"C'mon, Miko." She pulled her hand away quickly, and it fluttered awkwardly for a moment before she flipped her hair. Her hand dropped to clutch the other one tightly; her knuckles turned white. "Don't look at me like that. You know I just want to paint your nails, and gab about guys until the sun comes up."

But despite her abrupt half-recovery, Krista was subdued when they turned in for the night. She almost huddled under the blankets, and watched the small fireplace—lit only by the dying embers—with wide eyes. She waited until Miko had approached his bed—the one closest to the door, and he had noticed her careful switch of beds when he blew out the room's array of candles—before speaking. "Do they ever go away?" she asked very quietly.

He was silent for a moment as he slid under the covers. _Nightmares_. He wished, not for the first time, that he had discovered Krista's imprisonment earlier, that he'd worked quicker. The surveillance holo-images of Krista—bleeding, increasingly terrified and broken—still hung in his mind, ready to haunt him at any weak moment. If Miko, who had poured so much of himself into maintaining strict self-control, could not forget it, could Krista?

"Eventually," he finally answered. "Usually. There's always the odd one, but… Eventually."

"I hate this."

"I know."

"And I'm still mad at you for leaving."

Something about the sudden change of subject made him think, but Miko didn't let it show. "I did what I had to do," he said, slowly. Deliberately, he rolled onto his side to look at her.

"So are you just going to take off again when this is done?" Krista's voice sounded dull.

_No_. "I don't know. My only plans involve getting us out of this alive."

She snorted. "'This' is an approximately suicidal mission, or so I've heard. From the first member of the Prophecy Crew to die."

Miko's hands clenched in fists around his blanket. "Nothing is certain."

A few metres away, in her bed, Miko felt Krista's fear swell. Just as suddenly, she caught herself and hid behind her usual façade of bubbly, flaky acceptance that life was perfect for a beautiful person.

"I already know you, Kris." Miko hadn't meant to say _this_ out loud. He didn't even know if she would accept it from him, after all this time. "You don't have to pretend with me."

Krista was very quiet for a long, long time, until Miko's eyes were drooping into sleep. Her blue eyes glimmered in the dying light. "I know."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Long after the fireplace had burned out, Miko woke to a figure standing over his bed. "Wha…huh?" he muttered in confusion.

"Miko?"

He sat up slowly, trying to make out the woman's voice. "Kris?" His voice was still rough from sleep, but he began to drag himself out of the fog. "Wh-what's wrong? Is something—"

He didn't get to finish, because Krista didn't wait for him to speak further. Instead, she crawled (raced) under his blankets and curled up against him. When her wet face pressed against his sleep shirt, Miko realized she had been crying.

Without a word, he lay back down on his side, and held her closer. A small voice whispered in his ear that this—this was an Important and Significant Step in a direction out of his dreams. He pushed aside the thrill for later.

Krista buried her face in his neck. Her fingers clung to his shirt, and everything about her—Force presence, tense muscles, and tear-stained cheeks—betrayed her need to hide. Inside of him, if Miko dared believe it.

At first she was quiet, still trying to maintain her mask and then—

"_Force_, Miko."

And then she broke out sobbing. It was the first time she had cried in years.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

When Miko and Krista woke up in the morning, they were a slightly less than book-cover image mess. They were still entangled (if much more awkwardly, and far less glamorously, than the ideal position)—both in each other, and in the blanket.

After that, Krista stayed closer than ever to Miko. The anxiety caused by Sanar's earlier implications (prediction?) would soon hit harder than Krista had ever imagined it could. Even sooner, her heart would begin to betray her—to take refuge in someone other than her own safe self. While they were at the abbey, however, she began to travel down the road Miko had long been walking. And for once, Krista Harif did not watch for the signs that someone would leave her.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

**_Part B_**:

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Niha was an elderly woman with long, unfettered white-blond hair. Her skin was dark and greatly lined. And as to stereotype, she was dressed in flowing robes. As Sanar and her party approached the priestess, two women came to stand on either side of Niha's chair.

"Good morn," Niha began. Her voice was gravelly, but warm. "Did you sleep well?"

Krista and Miko exchanged a strange, furtive glance; their friends didn't notice.

"We slept fine," Sanar bit out impatiently.

Niha remained unperturbed. "Good. You will be safe here, for as long as you choose to stay. The emperor is not aware of our location, and we are protected by the Resistance, should the Jirs discover us."

"If that is so, then why did I never hear of you?" Sanar challenged, her dark eyes gleaming with interest.

"'Never'?" Niha repeated. "Not even a rumour?"

"Well, of course by rumour," Sanar snapped. Part of her was vaguely horrified by the way she was treating a Mirese priestess; most of her was too impatient to care. "Rumours can never be trusted."

"Were you never sent on unexplained missions?" Niha asked, raising an eyebrow. "Perhaps to this region?"

The woman's gaze had become harder, more judgmental. Sanar felt her resolve quiver just a very little. "I—well, no," she stumbled. Frowning, she stubbornly re-gathered herself. "I was part of Horaire's household for over a decade. The Resistance had no desire to move me. I could not leave, so I did not try to convince them."

"Ah," Niha said, as if with sudden enlightenment. "So you are the girl who lost her temper and killed the High Priest Horaire."

Blanching, Sanar recoiled into Kyp. The Kavishka stood close behind her; at her reaction, he raised a protective (comforting) hand to her shoulder.

"That's _enough_," he snapped, green eyes flashing. Kyp didn't know many details about Sanar's life on NLY (though the situation in which she and Jaina had met gave him some clues), but Niha was clearly playing some kind of game, and Sanar was the one suffering for it. "Niha—"

The elderly woman turned a serene smile on him. "Call me 'Mother.' Everyone does."

Kyp's memories of his mother were nearly four decades old, and understandably faded with that time, but he doubted _she_ had this kind of manipulative (_necessarily cruel_) cunning. "Mother," he corrected nonetheless. "If we are here only to be mocked, then we shall leave without delay."

Niha let her speculative gaze roam over him—they lingered on his hand, which still rested on Sanar's shoulder—before she nodded in approval. "I say what is needed, Kavishka."

"I really doubt that," Gantik—quiet until now—drawled. The menace in his voice, cold but hidden behind geniality, was unmistakable.

"Shut up, Gantik," Sanar snapped, not looking at him.

The dark man's jaw clenched as he shot his (_lovehatelove_) former friend a look. "Even I know that comment was—"

"Shut _up_."

Clayra frowned at her husband, who glowered alternately at Niha and Sanar. "My sister has a temper," she told Niha. At the others' stares, she scowled. "I don't believe the Resistance ever complained about Horaire's death, though," she added pointedly.

Niha, like so many others, ignored the youngest Klis. "If you cannot accept your past," she told Sanar, "you will never reach your future. And when the slightest mention of it can be relied upon to unbalance you, daughter of Jarran Klis, you will never be free. You shall never find what you are looking for."

Sanar's entire frame tensed against Kyp, and then she stepped away from him. "We are not here for the past, but for our planet's future," she said after a moment. It was clear to everyone how painstakingly she had chosen her words.

"I know."

The dark-haired woman paused, her eyes narrowing slightly. "Do you," she muttered. Without waiting for an answer, she continued. "My brother long ago prophesized that Pucijir's Order would be destroyed by the Kavishka, a mythically chosen champion for Mujir. About four years ago, we discovered that Kyp is—"

"The Kavishka," Niha finished. "Well, of course. Who else?"

The Prophecy Crew stared at her. In her hiding spot, a young woman stifled her grin. Niha, herself, looked rather amused as she feigned surprise. "Well, of course _I_ knew. We have been expecting this for some time now. Why, did Dejah not warn you?" For the first time since she had begun speaking, Niha's face showed some warmth. "Your brother may have been the Mother's messenger, Sanar Klis, and you may be beloved of your—your 'Strings,' you call them?—but I am my Mother's daughter. I see what is coming, and would heal and prepare you for it."

"Great." Everyone glanced over at Krista as the blonde deadpanned, "Our very own wise-woman to guide us through our dangerous quest. Give us a melodramatic love triangle, and we'll be right out of a bad novel."

Niha smiled. "Everything is."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Niha may insist that she knew all, but she apparently didn't see fit to let Sanar or Kyp in on Prophecy's secrets. She had changed the subject, without any subtlety, from why they were on NLY, to arrangements for supplies. Just as quickly, she had handed them over to a Mirese novice who dutifully showed them around the underground abbey.

The rest of the day had passed quietly. Braun had made himself scarce, but everyone had noticed the way he eyed the technology room. Sanar had little doubt he had gone to bury himself in gadgets until he could mourn his wife properly.

Clayra and Gantik had disappeared, leaving Sanar torn between trying to find and protect Clayra, and burying her head in the sand before she started bawling. It was never supposed to be like this.

Krista, Miko, Kyp and Sanar had stayed together—a certain flaxen and red-haired duo particularly so. Sanar and Kyp had watched in amusement as Miko and Krista had crammed themselves into the same armchair—apparently without even paying attention to the fact that they couldn't leave the other's side. The situation became only slightly less funny when Sanar realized that there was only one chair left in the room, and she would be expected to share it with Kyp.

The four of them had started out planning their next move, but conversation had eventually drifted into an area of less significant report.

Late into the night, Miko and Krista had left the large, warm meeting room together, and Kyp had left not long after them. Several hours later, however, Sanar was still there.

She had left once—very briefly—but found sleep impossible. The meeting room, large as it was, was now lit only by a few candles, whose luminance did not make it far past the pillars that made a cozy circle in the middle of the room. A conversation with Jaina had left her basically content—if more than a bit suspicious of Zekk and Perdita both—but, unfortunately, no sleepier. Apparently, some habits never died, especially on their planet of origin.

When she felt someone brush her mind with their own, Sanar jumped a little. It only took a second, though, for her to recognize the other as Kyp Durron. "Mujir," she said irritably. "Could you _not_ do that?" She twisted in her chair to see him properly, and scowled.

Without any visible remorse or concern, Kyp grinned. "_So_ sorry. Guess I'm just too sneaky for you to realize I'm around." As careless as a teenager, he sprawled in the other chair, across from her. "Don't worry—I won't tell anyone you're slipping."

"Force," she groaned. "What do you _want_?"

Kyp adopted a serene expression, which was belied only by his mischievous Force presence. "Galactic peace," he intoned angelically. "A little corner of the galaxy to call my own, and to start a little garden. The end of mortal suffer—"

Sanar managed—just barely—to keep from laughing. It would be just…_wrong_ to laugh at one of Kyp Durron's jokes. "I meant, why are you _here_, at this time of night? And how can I get you to leave?"

"Oh, I'm afraid you're stuck with me," he replied, smirking. "Certainly, within this room. I've grown rather fond of it."

"Too bad," she said haughtily. "I already claimed it. Bye now."

He ignored her. "I wanted to ask you something. About—Zekk. Or, Onyx, at the time."

She blinked, surprised out of her campaign for solitude. "Zekk?" Did Durron want her to search through herJaina's memories? And what did he need to know about—

"You… Earlier, you said you've been in love with that one guy for…for years. You—well, you did mean _years_, didn't you?"

Sanar, who had initially tensed, slowly forced herself to relax. "I did, from the day after…" She swallowed. "Since I was thirteen. Na'Lein years, of course. Why? Are you cross-examining me, to figure out if I'm crazy? Because if that's your big plan, then you can just—"

"Of course not," he quickly interrupted, wincing. He needed to think about what he was saying before he spoke; thus far, his unfiltered thoughts were just making a mess of things. "I just—I was wondering—"

"Kriff, _what_, already?" Sanar demanded, when he didn't finish his stuttered sentence. "And since when do you have a problem with just blurting words out, anyway?"

"Fine," he snapped. _Note to self_, he silently grumbled. _Being polite about one of Sanar clearly more vulnerable spots is not appreciated_. "How could you love _Onyx_—of all people—when you've been in love with someone else since you were a kid?"

It was immediately apparent that the question had flustered Sanar. She flushed uncomfortably, and pulled her legs up onto her chair. "I wasn't _in love_-in love with him right away," she grumbled. "I-I mean—it took a few years."

"But Onyx?"

"I _so_ get to ask you an uncomfortable question for this," the woman grumbled. Sighing, she drew her fingers through her hair. "I didn't—the whole…_thing_ between me and Onyx—or Zekk, or whatever you want to call him…it wasn't real. And it _definitely_ wasn't love."

"I never had reason to think otherwise," Kyp replied, a little too caustically. "But at the beginning, you thought…"

She heaved an aggravated sigh. "Fine. Yes. I thought—I thought something totally stupid. I was completely _asinine_, happy? You want it in blood? Tattooed to my forehead?"

"No, that wasn't what I—" Kyp cursed under his breath. Nothing ever came easy with Sanar. Not, he admitted, that he didn't generally prefer it that way, but it did make things…difficult. "Kriff it, Sanar, I didn't mean it that way, and you've got to know that by now. Everyone else does," he added under his breath. "I just…_why_? Why Onyx, even? Of all the guys you could have drifted for, why the one who—"

"At the time, I was blinded by my hormones?" Sanar wisecracked. At Kyp's irritated look, she deflated a little. "Look, I don't know, okay? I just…the first time I saw him, it was right after I—killed—" she swallowed. Niha's earlier words rang in her ears.

_If you cannot accept your past, you will never reach your future. And when the slightest mention of it can be relied upon to unbalance you, daughter of Jarran Klis, you will never be free. You shall never find what you are looking for. _

"I don't know why he was on NLY—maybe he was scouting us out for Imperial colonization—but he stopped my execution. And when I saw him—after—when they let me down from the platform—I just thought… 'That's him. That's _him_.'"

"'Him,'" Kyp repeated slowly. "You mean…you thought that…_Onyx_…was the man from your dreams."

Sanar shrugged, miserably embarrassed. "I don't even know why. When I wake up, I can never remember his name, or what he looks like. But something had me convinced that Onyx was the one I had been waiting for since…since everything just _stopped_. Ridiculous? Of course—one of the few things I'm relatively sure of is that he's _older_, not younger, than me."

Kyp had an unbidden, crazy thought. Before he could properly stifle it, his mind happily reminded his heart that—why, yes, he and Zekk _did_ possess similar features and colouring. They shared a personal history marked by Darkness, and by similarly orphaned childhoods. But, unlike Zekk, Kyp was older than Sanar by a few years.

"I wonder," he said, his voice oddly choked, "how you got them mixed up."

"I'm screwed up?" she suggested mock-brightly. "I mean, you're right: of all the guys…I chose the love of my sister's life. Real cool."

"People do stupid things when they're desperate," he offered.

Sanar seemed to bite down firmly before she could make a retort—probably something about agreeing with her. "So did you get a satisfyingly uncomfortable answer for your awkward question?" she asked instead, her tone saccharine sweet.

"I didn't mean to discomfort you." But he couldn't quite wipe the (stupidly hopeful) smirk off his face.

Sanar must have seen it, because her eyes became more devious. "So," she purred. "I believe I get an awkward question now."

Kyp back-pedaled furiously; he could only imagine what kind of questions Sanar would ask. "Uh, no, you don't." Getting up from his chair, Kyp started to inch toward the exit. "So, I asked my question—I'm good to go—" But part of him didn't _really_ want to leave, even to return to his room and wonder about what he had learned.

"Oh, no you don't. You know almost as much as I do about my love life. The least you could do is answer a few questions."

"A few?" he repeated, a thick eyebrow rising. "What happened to one?"

"You argued," she said briskly. "And you're a pain. _And_ my—Jaina's memories offer more than enough blackmail material to warrant some serious begging on your part.

"So. How long have you known her?"

Resigned, Kyp returned to his seat. How long? "Years." More than a lifetime—literally, his second, and a part of his not-life.

"And I know her," Sanar thought out loud, "but it's not Cerasy or Krista, because you're not close with one of them, and the other is completely not your type."

She knew what wasn't his type? Kyp wondered. Did that mean something? Because he felt awfully…vindicated by that fact.

"Oh, Larifx." Sanar eyes went comically wide. "Oh…my…lafit kriffing son-of-a-sith—it's Jaina, isn't it? Larifx!"

Kyp mentally slammed his head against the wall. "No," he groaned. "Not Jaina."

Sanar took no notice of his pain. "Oh, _please_. Of course she is! Did it start after you came back from the dead? The two of you _have_ been closer since then—but, well, you've always been close, so we all thought it was just—"

"Sanar! I am _not in love with Jaina_!" The words started off as a hiss, but ended in a near-yell.

Someday, his temper was going to get the better of him—again. Or killed. Again.

"I am not in love with Jaina Solo," he repeated, more gently this time, but just as firmly. "I don't know _how_ that thought got into your pretty little head, but kindly show it the door _right now_."

Sanar scrutinized him carefully, as if she thought he was lying to her, but finally dropped it. "Well, if Zekk's a bigger moron then I ever gave him credit for, don't tell him that. We might need you to inflict some jealousy pains."

_If Zekk…? _Kyp frowned. "What do you—"

"Next question: does this girl know that she has a not-so-secret admirer in the ex-Sith possessed, ex-dead Destroyer of Carida rogue Jedi Knight orphan?"

He resolutely kept himself from reacting to one of the names, though he noticed that Sanar had not—for once—lambasted him with it. "Quite a long title, isn't it?" he fondly remarked.

"Well," Sanar pressed. "Does she?"

"Definitely not," he replied fervently. _I'm not that suicidal_, he silently added. He could only imagine Sanar's reaction—especially with her being in love with a real dream.

"Larifx." To his surprise, Sanar rolled her eyes and leaned back in her chair. "Are you serious? She actually doesn't know. Could you _be_ any more stupid?"

Kyp blinked. And blinked again. "Huh?"

"I cannot _believe_ this," she muttered before sitting upright once again. "Okay, I'm in love with a literal dream guy, and my once-friend tried to rape me and is now married to my sister. Suffice to say, my love life is beyond screwed up. But even I know that 'I love you' is supposed to be _said_, not thought. You, of all people, should realize just how little time we have.

"And, sweet Force, I _can't_ believe I just basically told you to 'follow your heart' because 'life is short.'" Sanar groaned in exasperation, hiding her face behind her hands. "Shoot me now. I've begun spouting clichés."

Tempting Sanar's temper was dangerous at the best of times, but Kyp couldn't resist the urge to laugh. "I'll take your advice under consideration," he finally managed.

"Oh, shut up," she replied sourly. "Shut up, or I'll ask you another mean question."

"Another?" he repeated, smirking. "Had you asked one before?" he needled.

But Sanar Klis, who loved to needle him every time he breathed, and who flared up at a second's notice, just smiled. Her dark eyes gleamed. "I know one that'll wipe away any doubt."

Oh, no.

"About Jaina," she continued. Eyes still gleaming—evilly.

_Oh_, no.

"Even if you say you don't love her _now_…"

Could he just disappear? Right now? _Poof goes Kyp Durron? _

"But did you ever?"

He gaped at her. Too late.

Sanar's smirk was so wide it was almost a beam. She crossed her legs in front of her, swept her long, dark hair up in a pony tale, and gleefully waited for the results of her handiwork.

Force, he loved her.

Even if (or was it because?) she had absolutely nailed the most awkward question she could _ever_ ask.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

In her spot behind a pillar, a young woman watched the Kavishka and his beloved. Their interaction was all over the place; even at this stage of the Prophecy, the beloved—Sanar, Niha had called her—was resisting. It could mean nothing good.

Élin watched for several more minutes before at last withdrawing. Her bare feet fell silent on the stone floor, but she drew her shawl tighter around her shoulders.

She had not left the abbey for years, and had not lived elsewhere since Niha had rescued her from the ruins of the orphan's hometown. She stayed with Niha now, being groomed to replace her mentor when Niha returned to her Mother.

Élin would not leave the abbey until Prophecy was fulfilled.

Thinking on what she had seen this night, Élin adjusted her course to the main worship room. Niha was right; they would need all of Mujir's blessing and strength, and more luck besides, to see their world saved.

Sanar Klis may need several good shoves.

Motherly ones, of course.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"It wasn't anything," Kyp tried to explain. "Not really. Nothing happened, or anything."

"So," Sanar laughed. "Let me see if I've got this straight. You had a—a crush on her? Not that I blame you, because Jaina's—but—" The dark-haired love of Kyp's life snorted in genuine amusement.

"I did not," he indignantly denied. "We just—flirted a little. Okay, a lot," he amended at Sanar's look. "But we only kissed a couple times. It was never—" He froze, as if just realizing he was speaking out loud. "Force," he groaned in resignation. "I don't suppose you could _not_ react to that?"

Sanar practically vibrated with her glee. "I just need to figure out who'll be more fun to have this conversation with," she mused impishly. "You, or Jaina."

"Oh, Jaina," Kyp was quick to reassure her. "Definitely Jaina. Because I'm—I'm _definitely_ leaving now."

"Such a guy," Sanar grumbled. "Running whenever his ego is in trouble of being deflated. No one likes a spoilsport, Durron," she said in a sing-song voice.

"This has nothing to do with my ego, and everything to do with the tattered remains of my dignity."

"You've managed to hold onto scraps?" she asked, mock-impressed. "You must be more resourceful than I thought."

"Baby," he heard himself say, "I've got sides you've never seen."

Sanar blinked at him, but fortunately took it as a joke. "Okay, now _I_'m leaving."

"Good night, Sanar," he sang.

Sanar gave him a look before exiting with her nose in the air.

She only just made it to her room before bursting into laughter.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

"You saw them." An undecorated, impassive voice interrupted Élin's prayers. "What did you think?"

The young woman—still in her teens—rose slowly. "Of all of them, Mother? Or of the Kavishka and—"

"Turn around, and stop hedging." Niha's tone reflected only a little of her annoyance, and none of her affection.

Élin obeyed, and steadily met the elderly woman's gaze. "They are going to need a hard push—possibly off a cliff—to get them where they must be at the end of their journey." She spoke bluntly, with none of her more customary patience.

Niha raised an eyebrow at her protégé's petulance, but let it pass this time. She said only, "There is no other way. And besides, a Mirese priestess does not murder."

A stark lie, but one Élin did not bother to refute. "They spoke of another girl this evening—a…Jaina. Sanar surmised that the Kavishka once had—and perhaps still does have—feelings for her. Perhaps she…?"

"No," Niha replied after a moment. "The Kavishka chose Sanar Klis, and Prophecy has long since accommodated this. We will have to find a way to wear away at Sanar's stubbornness."

Élin winced. "Mother—is she related to—to _the_ Jarran Klis? The one who—"

"The one who built, and successfully hid, Mujir's Resistance for nearly three decades?"

The girl cringed, already knowing the answer, but nodded.

"More than that: Sanar is his daughter. I'm afraid he…rather described her as the child with 'all and more of his spirit.'"

"Oh," Élin said faintly. "Well. That…"

"She is also the one who killed High Priest Horaire."

_We are all going to die. And fail. _Élin forced herself to keep breathing. "I…see." She knew the stories—both of Horaire's treatment of his women, and of how bloodily his murderer had reacted. "I—I believe I will continue to pray for some time, Mother. Excuse me if I miss the early meal tomorrow."

Niha squeezed the young girl's shoulder briefly. "All will be as Mujir has designed."

Or how Her priestesses had designed, Élin thought dryly. Still, she lit the candles and incense. As Niha's footsteps faded from hearing, Élin restarted her fervent prayers.

_Let everything be as You will it. Lead Sanar along her destiny. Let the Kavishka be faithful, and successful. Let me see the morning sky again._


	92. Ch24: Someone, Something

**Chapter Twenty-Four: Someone, Something**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_Hurt._

_It…_

_…_hurt_…_

_…so much._

_Sanar didn't think she had fallen asleep—didn't think it could be possible in her condition. Her arms ached from when he had yanked her hands above her head, and from the stranglehold he had kept on her wrists _(as he shoved them into the wall). _Her entire body strained from fighting him despite his bruising holds, despite the knife._

_Little good it had done her._

_But she had found herself here again somehow. The landscape was still dark, desolate and resigned. The rain did not pound or knife this time, but drizzled miserably. And it seeped under her skin. Noxious, creeping, slowing—_

_—poison._

_She wondered if he would come this time, but didn't know if she wanted him to see her like _

(a dirty girl; a stupid niftyax; a worthless, faithless, infidel piece of—)

_this._

_Her pride was battered enough without finally breaking down in front of him. But he was the only one she _could _cry in front of, and she hadn't been able to do that since… Daddy—_

_He listened (or didn't) to what she wanted. He came._

_She knew when he saw the blood, the cuts, the bruises. Knew when he saw what she was: weak, stubborn; lost, trapped; broken… _

(no, not broken, never broken.

just lost.)

_But he didn't turn away from her, or show any disgust. He was just _there_, so close, and his hands were running over her so gently—searching for the wounds _

(knowingly: from experience)

_almost as if he could—wanted to—heal them._

_It made her wince every time his hands brushed over a bruise _

(tightening grip, killing hold, now pull and yank out of the way—

you're weak as a fly, little girl, little girl—

weak as a fly)

_but then she didn't feel it anymore. The blood clotted, the bruises faded, and the cuts scabbed. Sanar stared at her clearing skin, then at him. "How—"_

_"I can't fix it." His eyes mourned it, keened with regret and helplessness. "It's just—temporary. Just for now." Tenderly—so tenderly she could feel only its whisper—he pressed a kiss to her forehead. "I'm so sorry." _

(Beloved)

_Her pride flinched—and then ran—and Sanar was left crying in his arms. Left trying to make sense of everything, to hide and never come out, to stop it all from _hurting so damned much_._

_"I—I _can't_—" Through the tears and the ghost-pain she couldn't make the words heard._

_He must have understood anyway, because he held her tighter, and whispered words of comfort and reassurance and someday-vengeance._

_"Hold on," he finally said. "Wait for me—"_

_(please, _he begged) 

_"I'll need you, Sanar Klis."_

_She saved him, once, on the darkest day of his life._

_This time, he saved her. _

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Miko had never been lucky with women—something his older sister had delighted in teasing him about when he was younger. He could pine for months over a fellow student or colleague, but rarely had any of his infatuations even noticed he was male. But if his love life was tentative at best, he had plenty of female friends. Friendships were his forté—probably because the girls and their boyfriends never considered him a threat of any kind. His reputation had been slightly tarnished when he Turned, but even now, he was friendly with most of the girls he knew.

That Dejah did not fall into the category of "friend" was not surprising, though it may have initially disgruntled him—just a little bit. Miko had seen people like Dejah before, especially at the end of the Second Imperial War. People who fought for the right side, but who became so embittered, and so drawn into the struggle, that they became too hard and too ruthless. They became less—some even transformed into what they fought. It had been a factor in Miko's Turning—not so much that he himself had fallen victim to it, but that he had seen it in others, and had become cynical.

Miko would prefer not to see it happen to any of Mujir's Resistance. He hadn't come to replace one prejudiced regime with another. With that thought, he left the mess hall food line and purposely headed for Dejah's table. According to Kyp and Sanar, they still had a few months before the actual fighting began, but it was never too early to start healing.

Besides, Dejah would have to get used to men _eventually_. And she was probably too proud to admit his presence might bother her.

"Do you mind if I sit here?" he asked. Without waiting, the Jedi sat across from Dejah at her table.

Dejah only barely stiffened as she looked across at him. "Good day."

"Miko," he introduced. "Miko Reglia."

She merely grunted, and then took another bite of her orange, sludge-looking food.

"Does that taste as unappetizing as it looks?"

The fighter blinked, but she kept her cool. "It is food," she replied deliberately. Condescension hovered, unacknowledged, in her voice. "It is required for survival; I do not eat it for the flavour."

He over-winced. "Don't tell Krista that," he said lightly. "She might feel obligated to dip into her chocolate stash just to convince you otherwise."

Dejah opened her mouth to speak, closed it, and frowned. Her dark eyes now betrayed just the tiniest amount of uncertainty. "'Chocolate,'" she finally repeated. She almost looked neutral, but her pronunciation was awkward, and her accent more obvious than ever.

"It's…uh…do you have cocoa here?" When she shook her head, he nodded. "Right. Okay. Um…well, there are different kinds, but chocolate is usually…a little sweet, and creamy—it's made with milk," he added. "But I guess it's…it's hard to explain. After the revolution, if your government decides to involve itself in galactic trade, you should try it." He grinned and added, "Women have pretty much claimed it as their own." He paused at her strange expression. "What?"

"'After the revolution,'" she repeated tiredly. "You should not speak of it so certainly. It wi—may," she corrected herself. "It may never be completed."

Miko consciously adjusted the way he saw Dejah Salin. "I know it will happen," he told her, firmly. "And, anyway, I don't believe in giving up."

Dejah's temper flared. "And who will finally manage to fix everything?" she hissed. "You? Your—your _Kavishka_? He is a fairy tale, written by a man who wanted to overthrow a regime. A man, I hear, who is long dead."

"Devnos Klis may be dead, but his sister is a thousand times more stubborn than anyone I know—except for Kyp Durron…the Kavishka. Neither are complete idiots to transfer a silly bedtime story to real life."

"Naïveté does not necessarily demand stupidity," she replied impassively.

Miko laughed at that. "I'm just trying to think of Kyp or Sanar as naïve," he explained at her confused expression. "One grew up orphaned and enslaved in the space mines of Kessel; he destroyed a star system, died, and came back to life. The other grew up here in the household of one of your priests—which, I have no doubt, presents a list of horrors by itself. She killed said priest, was exiled from her home and away from her family, and made her way as a dancing slave from there.

"No," he said. "They are not naive. None of us are. And if I am the only one who wonders if we might die here, I will eat my hat. But we _will_ win. You don't know any of us—don't know how determined Kyp and Sanar are—so I'll forgive you your doubts."

He had meant to firmly reassure her, to give her hope, but Dejah's eyes flashed. She held her tongue, but he heard her response as easily as if she had yelled it: _Of course you would think you have that power over me, as a man. _

Miko hesitated, unsure of how to fix what she had read in his careless words. After a moment, he simply let it go. Dejah had been sorely mistreated by his gender her entire life. What he said in one conversation could little change how she perceived him.

Instead, he changed the subject. "What do you know of the Kavishka prophecy?"

Dejah's fork had been lightly tapping her food container. At his question, it stilled. "A man said another man would come and save us. With a magical sharp object. Apparently, we are to put our faith, hope and lives in this man's hands."

He snorted in amusement. "You might not want to spout that one for Sanar—the prophecy is rather close to her heart. Family connections, and all. Her brother was the one who wrote it all down. Of course, I'm pretty sure she would phrase it differently."

Dejah looked surprised—then felt wary—when he did not react to her belittlement of the Prophecy. "And how do you see it?" she asked. Perhaps unconsciously, she bit her lip, as if her question had surprised her.

"I think you know more details than you're admitting—definitely about the 'magical sharp object.' But never mind that I've heard that same sword screaming for vengeance. Never mind that I can _feel_ Kyp changing as he nears the climax of the prophecy."

The red-haired Jedi leaned across the table, capturing Dejah's eyes with his own. "I know the people who came here with me. I've seen Sanar Klis on a rampage; I've seen just a little of how far she'll go for what she loves; and I know what she's like when it comes to this place. Kyp used to be my master—he trained me to be a Jedi. He's pulled more stunts—and even more _impossible_ rescues—than you can imagine. He's been fighting someone or something all his life. And he loves Sanar. So now he fights for her, even though she doesn't know. They, alone, could find a way.

"But Krista and I fought a decade-long war; Braun is after vengeance for his wife's death; the Whilems are already involved in the Resistance. You don't have to believe me right now; proof will come soon enough. Until then, you can tell me what kind of help we'll get from the ones who have made anything at all possible."

"Hey, Miko. Dejah."

The light voice broke Miko and Dejah's staring contest, and he looked up with a little surprise as Krista appeared by his shoulder. _What kind of look had she sent Dejah?_ he wondered. For a brief second, she had looked…uncharacteristically, bluntly, cold. "Hey, Kris," he greeted, raising an eyebrow at her. Her expression had already returned to normal. "Why don't you take a seat? Dejah and I were just talking about the Prophecy—"

"Kyp's still got his apprentice doing his mouth work?" Krista teased, taking the seat next to him. "You know, if he wasn't so hot, he wouldn't get away with half of his laziness."

Miko mock-glared at her, prompting her to widen her eyes in attempted innocence. "What?" All sweetness and light, of course. As if she hadn't just called his former master "hot" (how traumatic), or labelled Miko a puppet.

"_Anyway_," he said. "We were talking about that, and now Dejah is going to tell us about Mujir's Resistance. Dejah?"

As he returned his eyes to the MR fighter, he saw that she was carefully peering at Krista. The Jedi realized, with a distant kind of horror, that she was checking for evidence of some kind of abuse—bruises, or a cowed spirit. He knew it was to be expected here, but—_damn it_, of all the girls Dejah might expect him to hurt….

When Krista shot him a bemused look, Miko consciously curbed his temper. "So, Dejah?" he prompted. He _almost_ sounded normal.

"Mujir's Resistance has been fighting this war for decades," she finally said. "The stakes are being raised constantly. Open warfare is not yet in Quatroc, let alone the Holy City, but we remain on the brink. No doubt, news of your intentions will eventually reach the emperor, and we will be pushed into battle."

"Quatroc—that's your capital, right?" Miko asked.

"Yes," Dejah concurred after the briefest of pauses. "It is in the area of the emperor's residence, and it is where most of our trade takes place. Within Quatroc is the Holy City. Women are not yet allowed past its walls, though."

"I assume MR headquarters are in Quatroc?" Krista asked, almost idly. Miko wondered if she was aware that she sounded exactly like their old director when she had been debriefing them.

"Yes. It is in the middle of everything. There, the Quatroc fighters number almost three thousand."

Miko and Krista exchanged a look; coming out of a galactic war, they were used to numbers far larger than that. The corners of Krista's lips curved downward. "And your opponents number…?"

Dejah raised her chin defensively. "Three thousand on-duty soldiers, a thousand in reserves, and one thousand five hundred Holy Brothers call Quatroc or the Holy City 'home.' However, they are sent out by the hundreds at any given time. When they are distracted—and they usually are—we are nearly equal in strength."

"How well-trained are your fighters?" Miko demanded.

Here, Dejah admitted weakness. "Many of the women are married, and almost none of them are free by…your…standards." She looked vaguely sceptical, but Miko refrained from reacting. "We are as trained as our situations allow. For some, the difference is…staggering."

"And, I suspect, many are not always…a very picture of health?" Miko asked as delicately as he could.

"Some are routinely injured." Weariness was etched on Dejah's face. "Yes. That does not increase the numbers of our fighters." She gave them a thin smile. "But, supposedly, with nothing to lose in a fight for our freedom, we are the fiercest fighters. That's something."

She sounded sarcastic—almost bleak, but Miko smiled. "It's most of everything," he corrected her.

"Listen to Miko," Krista casually added. "He grew up just outside the Hapes Consortium. They aren't quite where you guys are, but…"

"Speaking of places we _don't_ want this to turn into," Miko hinted broadly. He playfully elbowed the blonde.

"But they have hot guys!" she protested. "And boy harems! And boy—"

"Don't even," he pleaded. "Please. _Don't_ finish that sentence."

But she did. "And, _boy_, do they have one of the best education systems in the galaxy, or what?" she finished, her face the very picture of innocence.

As a horrified Miko dropped his head into his hands, Krista leaned over the table. Earnestly, she told Dejah, "Your eyes are ready to fall out of their sockets. Did you know?"

The fighter slowly blinked, then shook her head a little. "I do not believe it is physically possible for your eyes to simply 'fall out,'" she said, almost reflexively.

Miko shot his fellow Intel agent a look. "It's just an expression, Dejah. And Krista was only teasing. Don't worry about it.

"What is the Resistance leader like?" he asked, switching the subject back from its tangent.

"Our leader?" Dejah missed a beat, then straightened her back. "Geneva Tal stays mainly in Quatroc, though she is occasionally forced to travel. She succeeded Trice Gallix nearly nine years ago, and has since shown remarkable determination, energy and devotion to the cause."

"So she's a strong leader," Miko summarized to himself. He thought for a moment about how to pose his next question. "How is she, psychologically?" At Dejah's bemused expression, he tried again. "That is, is she exceptionally…bitter? Cynical? Ruthless?"

Dejah's defiant expression gave him his answer even before he spoke. "Only as much as she has to be," the dark-haired woman defended. "And far less so than any of _them_."

"I hope so," he replied quickly. "I really do."

Dejah's expression became dark even as she deliberately leaned across the table. "Close to eight hundred years ago, an organization began twisting our religions, our society, to make my gender _distasteful_—if, unfortunately, still necessary—to yours, Miko Reglia. They perverted a little known tribal god named Pucijir, and began burning barren and otherwise 'defective' women alive.

"They then fashioned an army of fanatics and warred for years. But the war wasn't the point, even though they triumphed over each kingdom on this planet. They sent spies to report weaknesses; agents to find high positions in our armies and society; and priests to seduce men into their beliefs. And they kept 'cleansing' our world of excess women.

"Since then, Pucijir's Order has completely taken over this planet. They have destroyed anything good we might have had for seven hundred seventy-six years. Women are no longer the only ones who burn, but no one will say it out loud. No one is _allowed_ to say it. What could be worse than that?"

"The possibility of an honourable cause destroyed so that the past's vengeance can be carried out for a thousand years." Miko's voice was hard. The history recitation had not left him unaffected, but he refused to just excuse the cruelty of revenge. "It will have to stop eventually, you know. If you want to make a better world."

The anger left Dejah's eyes, leaving only bleakness as she leaned back. "Why?" she said. "Is there really anything left to save?"

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Kyp had been enjoying an early morning stroll, one of the few times he set aside to actually _think_, and at least attempt to plan. Neither had been his forté—especially not before he acted—but he'd made a promise to Jaina to at least fake responsibility. Since he had woken up, however, his mind had been a mess of scattered information and possible connections. Sanar's dream man, Onyx, himself…those, especially, were hopelessly jumbled. He had long since lost any partiality, or even focus on the details, but he couldn't stop his brain from circling it, trying to find the key to unlock the mysteries.

Fortunately for his brain, however, his inner arguments were cut short by a very angry, very _familiar_ voice coming from down the hall.

"I just want to _talk_ to her!" A beat. "No, I _won't_ wait quietly as you just—_qieqia calif'nan ado_!"

Rounding the corner, Kyp was just in time to see the berated novice escape into a room. Sanar must have known the door was locked, but she kept yelling in Na'Lein anyway.

"What's wrong?" he dared to ask.

Sanar spun to glare at him. As testament to the early hour, her hair was still loose and crumpled—and, at best, only absently brushed. She was dressed in a woven poncho with cotton loungewear underneath. Cotton loungewear, Kyp was almost certain, that Jaina had once bought for her. White, cartoon banthas made smart aleck comments against the blue background.

"Nothing," she muttered after a brief argument with herself.

"You're yelling at a girl half your age over 'nothing'?" he asked, now thoroughly amused.

"It's nothing to do with you," she corrected with a snap.

"Okay." Despite his verbal surrender, Kyp stared at her until she became uncomfortable, and gave a little more info.

Sanar bristled. "You're worse than Jaina, sticking your hero-nose into other people's business. Did you know that? You really are."

"And I'm just as stubborn as her, so you know you may as well just tell me," Kyp replied with a smug grin.

"I'd sooner make out with—with _Miko_," she sneered. "Or," she added, "one of—Jaina's brothers. If one of them was still alive."

He made a face. "That's really…kind of gross. Unless your soul-tangle with Jaina has suddenly disappeared, and the feelings all magically vanished." His expression cleared for a beatific smile. "But I'm glad you rank me so high."

She took the bait. "Rank you—" Her face turned furious and indignant a second too late. He had seen the quick, fierce grin that betrayed her. It was the proof he needed that she had passed hating him to get off on their sparring. He might go crazy wondering if Sanar mixed Onyx up with him, but at least he'd have the memory of that look in her eyes.

"You're impossible!" she finally hissed. "You—just—are so—_insufferable_—"

"All that and more," he agreed impishly. "But what got you so upset with that novice?"

"She was a priestess," Sanar grumbled unhelpfully. "Not a novice. Sithspit. What's wrong with your eyes? Novices wear the light green outfits."

"So sorry. Priestess. I was blinded by the sight of you in the early morning, with your hair still—all…" _deliciously undone as it filtered light and darkness_, he thought but didn't say. Kyp couldn't say anything; he had made the mistake of really _looking_ at Sanar, and now his brain was becoming rapidly more muddled.

"Durron?" Sanar interrupted his daydreams. Her expression was strange. "Shut up."

Kyp shook himself out of his daydreams. "You wish," he was quick to respond. "So, do I have to annoy you about that scene with the _priestess_ all day, or are you going to let me in on the 'nothing'?"

She rolled her eyes irritably. "It is way too early to argue."

"For everyone else," he concurred, smirking. "But you and I are special. Find a perfect moment, and we'll start bickering just for the heck of it. Now, stop trying to change the subject. What's going on?"

"Niha is avoiding me."

Recalling how the priestess had first reacted to Sanar, Kyp said, "And you care because…? The two of you didn't exactly hit it off last week."

"Exactly!" Sanar exclaimed. "Last week! I've waited _seven days_ for an explanation—for something more—that should have been laid out the second we came here. If Niha knows so much, then she should damn well be talking! Explaining, warning—something."

Kyp processed her frustration before realizing, "You think she knows about your…your part in this, don't you?"

"It's the only thing I don't know about, but she just—the way she _looks_ at me—she knows. _She_ knows, even though she probably doesn't care. I deserve to know why I'm here!"

"Isn't it a little early to be existential?" Despite his words, Kyp's voice was too gentle to bring her into a sparring match.

In fact, he was _much_ too gentle—Sanar glanced up at him, took a step closer—but then blinked, and her expression demanded to know who the hell he was. But she said, "I told you. I need to…I've always been—_needed_—until now. And this story—prophecy—it's mine. Somehow, it really _is_ mine, and if it needs me…" She swore, but cut herself off from speaking for another moment. She was working up a full load of steam now, and he couldn't tell if it would end in tears, a screaming match, or even one of their rare moments of understanding. He never could, not until after she had raced away. But she never looked lovelier.

Kyp didn't think, only framed her face with his hands. Her lovely, beloved, spirited face, that he had no problem identifying as _hers_, and not Jaina-and/or-Sanar's. His thumb, as it slowly brushed her cheekbone, traced a barely visible—but never forgotten—scar. "Sanar…"

_Beloved, are you listening? Listen. _Hear _me. _

She stared up at him as if dazed, or as if she was trying to see him through a dense fog. _Kyp? _

He wondered why she wasn't screeching and throwing him away. But then he realized that she understood. In this moment, Kyp Durron was not in control: that someone…something…else was. A part of him, or something he was only a part of.

Something/someone Sanar knew.

"Sanar," he heard himself say again. But it couldn't be him, could it? The voice was too hoarse, too open…too desperately and completely in love.

_Oh, wait. No, that was about right. Except for the part where it…wasn't. What was happening? _

She made a soft, strangled sound, and her dark eyes widened as for a moment she saw him clearly. "_J'amla tuksa diosse, Mujir_…." Then, so very quietly, "Kyp?"

He leaned in close enough to breathe her in—_drink her in_—then hovered there. "Wait for me," he heard himself say. "I'll need you. I already do."

Sanar gasped; startled; stared; then suddenly pulled away, breathing too quickly. As dazed and as awed as her eyes had been before, they were now terrified. She trembled; her face was pale, her eyes and mouth stark in their contrast; and he saw the woman he loved completely stripped of her every defence.

_Kyp?_

_(…Beloved?) _

Kyp came back to himself slowly. Seeing the sheen in her eyes—

(_By the Force, WHAT JUST HAPPENED?) _

—he reached out for her. "Sanar?"

She flinched, then took a step back, then—"_Mujir_"—raced from the room.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar ran.

Desperate, panicked, confused, terrified—she ran.

Sanar Klis, Storm Fighter, had never run like this before—not since her father….

As a teenager, she had fought a High Priest; as a woman she had been thrust, alone and lonely and lost, into a strange world. She had not run then.

Now, she ran.

Ran, ran, _ran, **ran**_ until she couldn't anymore, and her reason for running was hiding again—but hiding behind the swirl of all the emotions she would _never, never, never_ be rid of—and then she pushed through a door.

The door led to a small worship room—one of many, no doubt, in the abbey. Sanar did not notice the tapestries, or the softness of the rugs, or the religious relics. She could barely stand, and she collapsed in a pew. Her heart wouldn't stop pounding—racing unevenly, jumping every-which-way-and-stop-start-again.

What had happened? _What had just happened?_

_By Mujir—the Force—oh, gods, Daddy— _

Where was Jaina? Sanar needed Jaina right now—not just the _part_ of Jaina that she always had—everything; she needed all of her best friend, the only person she could—

(_Jaina, please, please, where are you?_)

—and, gods, Jaina was a hero, she'd know, she had to know—

_My gods, Mujir, Force, stars, all holy lafit hell _what—

"You have to stop this."

She looked up wildly before focusing on a stranger's face. Dark honey hair, green eyes, young—Sanar filed the information away somewhere, but it didn't process. "What?" she gasped. "I mean—" She gulped, and tried to make it all stop spinning. "I mean, what?"

"By denying it, you're only putting it off," the girl said, leaning forward to squeeze Sanar's shoulders. Her eyes were wide with carefully—but not carefully enough—suppressed pleading.

Desperation.

(_Wait for me. I'll need you. I already do._

_Sanar, Sanar Klis, Daddy's darling storm fighter—_

_Beloved_.)

"If you're too late—"

Sanar forced herself to get a hold of herself. Kyp Durron had—

No. Thinking about it would drive her insane. 

_(But I saw—I felt—_

_NO!) _

But here, now—clearly, this girl either knew something, or was completely mad. Or both.

"What are you talking about?" Sanar demanded suspiciously.

_Right. Right. _Demand _it; be The Niftyax. Nothing's changed._

_(Everything—_

_No.)_

_Nothing's changed. It _can't_ have changed. _

The colour rose in the other girl's cheeks, but then she visibly shut down. "Nothing," she said through gritted teeth. "You should talk to Niha." She turned with a flip of her light brown hair, and all but strode briskly from the chapel.

"I've been _trying_!" Sanar snapped after her. "She's been avoiding me. Doesn't anyone just say what they _mean_ here—"

The door slammed shut behind the young girl.

Sanar's heart still hadn't stopped hammering.


	93. Ch25: Falter

Just in case you didn't notice - this is the third post in two days (the documents were about to be deleted :P), so you might want to check that you haven't missed anything :)

**_x-x-x-x-x-_**

**Chapter Twenty-Five: Falter**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Jolesp's parents were, and had always been, unbelievably, filthy rich. This of course made Jolesp's holos markedly easier to develop, especially because his father had installed a professional-quality filming studio in the eastern wing of their house. The teenaged director took it all as a blessing from above, since he refused to be less-than-professional, and film (or even practice) elsewhere, unless the scene called for it. Their first "official" meeting of actors, film help, and writer took place in exactly that studio early in the summer.

Lera slowly entered the room, carrying a large, bulky bag. She glanced at Jolesp; seeing him occupied with Hasi and her character analysis, the fair-haired girl made her way to Nichyn. "Hey, you," she half-whispered.

He looked up from the soundboard, a small smile already on his lips. "Hello— What is all that for?" he asked abruptly, staring at her crammed book bag.

"Well, if you'd make yourself useful…" she hinted gruffly.

He immediately stood and took the bag. "Well?" he pressed when she saw on the edge of the desk.

"They're for you." Biting her lip did not quell Lera's expectant grin. When Nichyn only stared at her, she rolled her eyes and opened the bag. "I went to the library today, and…kind of accidentally ended up in the political science/history section," she said, rambling slightly. "I know you want to go back to NLY eventually to help, so I thought you'd better start reading."

Slowly, carefully, Nichyn retrieved the first data-text: Political Ideologies That Shaped 35th Century Gallinore.

"Most of them are actual texts, of course. A lot of people prefer them that way, for academic projects. But you can keep them longer than data-texts, so I didn't think you'd mind."

"I…Lera…"

At his astonished appreciation, she ducked her head, blushing. "I just… There are books on past revolutions, too, and I can help you find some information on the aftermath. So you know what kind of things to expect, when you…."

"_Damm 'kuin_," he said, still staring at the bag. "Thank you."

"They're just books from the library," she told him, smiling shyly. "I was already there, really, when— Oh, right. _Speaking_ of." She pulled the book bag across the table to herself, and began to rummage through it. "I have something else for you. It's kind of a late birthday/welcome to Gallinore present, since I didn't really get you anything then."

Nichyn unconsciously touched the bracelet that was still tied around his wrist. It hadn't left his arm since Lera placed it there on his first day in the Rym household. "You didn't have to do that," he told her. "You barely knew me then."

"But now I do," she replied firmly. "Oh, here they are."

"They" were a package filled with thick paper, and several drawing styluses. Lera had chosen carefully, and braved talking to a store manager about which were best for sketching. Since discovering the drawing of Nichyn's mother, she had been able to better follow her friend's artistic habits. He loved it, the way she loved writing. One look at his face now told her the art store manager had, indeed, known what she was talking about. Nichyn loved her gift.

"Lera…" Almost tenderly, he took the tied package from her hands. "How…?" Slowly, he raised his bright eyes to hers. It went without saying that all of his scant art supplies had been left behind on NLY. The weak flimsi had been enough, but not the same.

"I noticed," she said simply, but the look in his eyes made her blush. She didn't see the way Nichyn blushed as well.

"Lera, it's—that is, I love it—but it is…too much."

She raised an eyebrow. "Nichyn, I know there aren't any price tags on your gift."

"I've seen…they are not…" Nichyn dropped his eyes to the gift.

Lera almost told him that she had an allowance, that she baby-sat regularly, that she had published a few short stories in the provincial holo-report. But Nichyn's pride would probably follow his excellent manners, and Lera had enough guy friends to know how _that_ would go.

"Come on, Nichyn," she cajoled. "What are you going to do, make me brave the public—the manager—the customer service people again? Make me try to return the open package of quality—but not _that_ quality—paper?" She widened her eyes, and pouted a little. It had always worked on Arelyk and her uncle.

Nichyn's good manners crumpled, and apparently not even his pride would make Lera deal with strangers if she didn't want to. Of course, Lera seriously doubted he had really wanted to argue.

Surprising her only a little, Nichyn suddenly hugged her. "_Damm 'kuin_," he repeated by her ear.

She thought he might say more, but Zuleika chose that moment to finally walk through the door.

"You're late," Arelyk told his sister.

As she and Nichyn separated, Lera glanced at her chrono. "He's right, Zuleika. Almost twenty minutes late, actually."

"Shut up," the red-head casually told Lera. "Like you weren't enjoying the dark with Arelyk." She paused suddenly, and noted Nichyn and Arelyk's respective closeness and distance from Lera. "Or is it Nichyn now?" she asked dryly.

Lera's cheeks flushed as she glanced at Arelyk. He was frowning disapprovingly—but only at Zuleika, and only because his sister had teased his best friend.

"Are you ever quiet?" he pointedly demanded.

"'Fraid not," Hasi interjected. Hearing the chance to squabble with her "best friend," the dark-haired young woman had cut short her conversation with Jolesp.

"I don't believe we came to argue," Nichyn headed off the cat fight. He moved away from Lera, but not before squeezing her elbow.

"No, we didn't," Jolesp said indignantly, picking up on the change. He gave Zuleika a stern look as he gestured for Arelyk and the girls to follow him into the recording room. "Last warning, Ms. Rym."

Zuleika scowled at him as he passed her. "Pompous control freak," she muttered.

"I know you are, but what am I?" Jolesp stuck out his tongue at the older girl.

"What _are_ you, three?" Zuleika demanded. "Show some respect for your starlet."

"Yes, I am your three-year-old director, and Macy Lamaze would be more than happy to replace you. So why don't we get to work now? Unless you want me to call Ms. Macy…."

Nichyn raised an eyebrow at Lera, but she only snickered and shook her head.

"Zuleika, Hasi and Arelyk—you'll be going through your scenes. Nichyn…" Jolesp hesitated. "Lera will go over the soundboard with you—"

Lera looked up, frowning. "I thought you showed him the tech part," she said. "Jolesp, I don't know why you—"

"I did show him!" the young director protested. "He didn't understand any of it."

"You went off on a tangent every three seconds, didn't you?"

"Tangent," he repeated thoughtfully. "I like that word. Can we have a 'tangent' in the title?"

"'The Director Finally Finished This Film After Eighty Years of Tangents'?" she suggested.

He scowled at her. "Great art takes time, Ms. Author."

"Just tell me if it takes so much _time_, I have to re-do all my research on the First Imperial War. My memory only remains perfect for five years."

He made a face at her. "Just go over it with him, sina-Lera. Or _I_'ll do it, and leave you to go over the characters with Hasi and Zuleika."

Lera's eyes widened, and her lips tightened. "No, that's okay. Just the sound board? I can do that. Easy. Piece of cake."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Nichyn was hopeless with technology. Lera, herself, was no great whiz, but years of Jolesp's directions had kept her aloft. The instruction manuals hadn't hurt, either. But Nichyn…

"You know, you'll probably be…really busy with your part anyway," Lera finally said. He had just tried to dim the lights, only to set off the theft alarm. "I can do most of it."

"No," he said stubbornly. "I can do it. I just need to…to get used to it. Which one increased the microphone strength, again?" His hand hovered uncertainly above the sound board.

"I'll re-label the controls," Lera decided, "or get one of Jolesp's servants to do it. It might help you, a bit." She winced faintly. "By the time they'd worn off, Arelyk and I had already been using this for a while…." She pointed to a dark knob on the right. "That's the microphone strength. Turn it to the left to diminish—"

He carefully did so.

"Now turn it to the right to increase it."

He cranked it a little too quickly, and both teenagers winced as Jolesp loudly called, "Action!" As Lera and Nichyn watched the room, Zuleika, Hasi and Arelyk launched into their lines.

"The first group of run-throughs are always…interesting," Lera warned Nichyn as she made a face. "I can cover the basic sound stuff for now—why don't you take a look at those texts?"

"_I can't believe you brought a stranger here!_" Arelyk's character exclaimed. "_What if she's an Imp?_"

Zuleika, playing Lacane, flipped her hair. "_Honestly, Harris. What was I supposed to do? Let her bleed to death?_"

"_Yes!_" Saja called, apart from the siblings. "_Or at least buy thicker doors, so I can't hear you._

"Like she couldn't hear everything anyway," Hasi added, out of character. "Lerasina, the Rebels _deserve_ to be caught. They've got a potential spy in their 'fresher, and—"

Lera's lips tightened as she leaned forward. "A potential spy, Hasi," she spoke into the intercom, "who is supposed to be caring for a _head wound_ in the 'fresher. Save it, Hasi. You'll get plenty of diva time as Saja stumbles into the apartment at the start of the scene."

Hasi gave her a very fake smile, but Lera just grinned back. Hasi tended to unnerve Lera and render her a babbling, flustered mess; it was rare for her to successfully take the wind out of the other girl's sails. Co-directing was one of the few places where Lera had the higher ground for defence.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw Nichyn trying to stifle his own grin. She had no doubt he had been paying attention to the conversation, ready to jump in and defend her. Instead, the look in his eyes had turned approving, and slightly mischievous. Her smile grew as his expression melted warmth inside of her.

It felt, she was only slightly surprised to realize, even better than one-upping Hasi.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Lera tiredly waved goodbye to Arelyk and Nichyn as she walked across the lawn. Their first rehearsal had been as long, tedious and bumpy as could be expected. All she wanted now was to eat some crackers (Jolesp's fancy family dinner was nice, but entirely too rich for her), and collapse in front of a holo-vid.

Of course, it didn't work out that way. The crackers and cheese, she got. Unfortunately, she found more than that in the kitchen. Her parents were simmering, making civil, careful snipes that did not hide their brewing argument. Lera recognized the warning signs immediately.

Instead of going to the media room, she headed up to her room. Not really expecting her parents to wait to argue until she was sleeping, Lera turned up her music. Hopefully, they'd realize she was still up, and be quieter. They _did_ try, after all. It was more than some parents did—Hasi was proof enough of that.

With Claris' mournful soprano gently building to the eventual crescendo, Lera fell into her hover-chair. Even if she had wanted to try to sleep through a Verili argument, her mind was too busy for dreams, and too restless still for reading.

Claris' voice dropped suddenly, and failed to hide an angry reply downstairs. The colour rose in Lera's cheeks, and she picked her bag up from the floor. Impatiently, she retrieved the holo story's data-chip. The outline was finished—scribbled out whenever she had a chance, and every time her parents fought. Which, she admitted, had been happening a lot more lately. Even with her there. _What if this was— _

She halted the thought. It could never be over between her parents. Not after so many years of fighting and reconciling. They always came back to each other, eventually. They were too in love, and had been since practically the first day.

"Kriff it, Hallis, I am getting so sick of this—"

"What, you want the main job now? I'm your wife, Jamut—it's my _job_ to take care of this family! And what does it even _matter_?"

"Politics," Lera muttered as she inserted the disc into her holo-station. The social changes creeping into Gallinore had become an increasingly central source of conflict between her parents. But her parents wouldn't let social politics lead them to a divorce. Lera would just—she'd help them, if she could. Take their minds off their problems? She could—could—

_Do nothing. _

Just like she had done nothing so far to warn Sanar, just like she had never realized Prophecy's love of irony would lead to Veras' death.

Lera's fingers fell hard on her keyboard as her mind raced.

_It's not fair. It's _not fair_! It was never supposed to be like this, it shouldn't ever have to be like this, one death after another, two-by-two and more still. _

Lera's mind scrambled for understanding as she wrote. It searched for some _scrap_ of justification. Right then, it only made the horrible kind of sense that her humanity considered to be no sense at all.

_Vengeance . Vengeance at any price. Vengeance to starkly cleanse—bleach—strip—a world of evil. Vengeance supported by Prophecy. Vengeance with a human taste for irony. _

Lera couldn't accept that it was just that. Veras' fate could not be merely for the woman's easy replacement. It had to be something…something that would eventually help Sanar. Lera wasn't stupid; she knew sacrifice was necessary for anything worth having, but maybe—

What if it could help Sanar somehow? What if—

_Saja makes her choice with Haziv's death._

_SAJA: Fine. I'll do it. I'll help._

_BRIEFLY: A flash of Haziv's face as she died by Imperial gunfire._

_QUICKLY: Flash back to Saja's face._

_SAJA: Just don't make a big deal about it. I'm not doing it for you. _

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

As a rule, Lera wrote happy endings. She _liked_ happy endings, in her life and in her stories. Her characters, as dear to her as real friends, faced staggering difficulties, but remained together, lived together, despite their struggles. She didn't like killing important characters, or those dear to them.

Haziv Lamal—one of Saja's fellow street survivors, and one of the few people Saja half-liked—died while Lera's parents argued, and Vengeance waited (plotted, lurked).

Jolesp's wish for an imperfect ending came closer to reality that night, when Lera's belief in happy endings faltered.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

_Devnos watched. And brooded. _

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

The skaptor lurked within him at all times. Breathing the fire of righteousness—of Pucijir's Holy will—it snarled, but waited. It tested its claws on niftyaxes, sharpened its teeth on infidels—

But only waited.

_Waited for the climax, for the moment when it would burst forth and scour this world—and then the galaxy—until it was pure. Until the Day of Cleansing, when Pucijir would release this beast within him, and create His dominion. _

Until then, His vassal stood guard, waiting just as patiently. Waited, but not idly. Rafintair paved the way. Created the perfect trap—

For the perfect Day.

The anticipation flowed through his veins—_not much longer now. _Nothing could distract him, not even minutely. Not the shifting warmth of the fire, nor the approaching, nor even—

(_blood on skin and eyes dark brown blind eyes_)

Nothing.

"Your majesty."

Rafintair gathered himself, bringing all his thoughts back to his receiving room. He looked up, his expression only—at worst—slightly annoyed. "Brother Vacchus. I assume you have good reason for appearing unannounced."

The Holy Brother Commander did not show any sign of fear; it had long since been stamped—cleansed—out of him. Brother Vacchus was a man much like Rafintair—another guardian of Pucijir's skaptor.

"It has been confirmed," the pale man said. "The one they call the 'Kavishka' is on Na'Lein'yhpaon. He comes in a group of seven—they were responsible for the slaughter of Holy Brothers two months ago."

A breath, tight with anticipation. "Where are they now?"

"They have disappeared momentarily—we believe they have taken temporary refuge in the 'secret' Mirese abbey."

Pensive, Rafintair sat back in his ornate chair. "Scout the area more carefully, but do not confront them until I give the word. The Kavishka and I will meet, whatever happens—it is better to know a man, than attack him and let him discover how far he can go."

"And the abbey?"

Rafintair waved a careless hand. "Leave it for now. Let them think they are still safe. We shall prove them eternally wrong soon enough."

"As you command, sire."

"Was that all?"

Vacchus bowed. "Yes, your highness."

Rafintair smiled; his teeth were more obvious than his triumph. "Nearly time, Brother."

Vacchus was quick to slip into the slightly more casual conversation. "Indeed, sire." A vicious grin escaped him. "And it would seem they still know nothing of the Prophecy's true nature."

The emperor laughed. It was not a pleasant sound; his serving girl flinched. "Exactly as we wish it," he agreed. "Exactly as we planned it."

(_blood and skin and eyes now dark blind forever finally blind and a girl in the corner_)

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

A tap on Lera's window distracted her suddenly, and she startled out of her writing. Her loose hair caught the air as the girl's head—and eyes—rose. Absently, she deactivated her music player by remote control.

Another tap.

For a long moment, Lera stared dumbly. Finally, a third tap, and a whisper of her name, shook her out of her stupor. With a glance at her door, Lera walked to her window. A shadow lurked behind the curtains; when she drew them aside, Nichyn was waiting. Having caught her attention, he pulled back inside his window.

Upon seeing his quiet, slightly mischievous (just for her) grin, she smiled back. With a last look at her door, beyond which her parents were still arguing, Lera leaned forward from her window seat to lessen the distance between them. "Hey," she half-whispered. "What are you doing still up?" She resolutely kept herself from looking at her holo-station screen, where her writing was waiting. Nichyn's appearance was welcome, but hadn't yet completely lifted her out of her thoughts.

Across the way, the dark-haired teen shrugged. His expression was suddenly, unexpectedly tinged with bashfulness. "I wanted to give you something."

Lera raised her eyebrows curiously. "What?" Before he could answer, she shook her head. "Do you want to climb over?"

The space between their bedroom windows was very narrow; Lera and Arelyk had been crawling across the way for years. Nichyn, after a sceptical look, only swung across when he realized Lera was about to come across to _his_ side.

"No," he said, grunting as he stumbled in. "You can stay. I'm here."

Amused by his behaviour, she grinned. "I've done it a thousand times, you know. I wouldn't fall."

Nichyn appeared almost green at the gills as he looked from her to the open space between their windows. "Humour me?" he pleaded.

She softly laughed. "Oh, fine. Today. But don't think anyone else would. You're on _Gallinore_ now."

"I don't like heights," he told her. "And I _really_ don't like seeing people I care about put themselves in danger. That doesn't change with the planet I'm on."

_People he cares about. _Lera glowed. "So what made you brave the gap?" she asked. Without Lera's realizing it, her earlier black mood (_writing_) was forgotten.

He turned back and leaned out of the window. "I didn't really need to come over here to give it to you, I guess, but…" He pulled himself back in, and turned around. In his hand was a sheet of the paper Lera had given him earlier that day. Carefully, almost cautiously, he handed it to her. "It is not as good as I would have liked it to be—I've only been able to devote any real time to my art here, but—"

A trembling smile spread across Lera's face as she studied it. "It's wonderful, Nichyn." She couldn't take her eyes off of it.

Throughout the earlier rehearsal, Nichyn had stolen every possible opportunity to draw. It was obvious. The details were imperfect, and the style unpolished. That wasn't what made the drawing wonderful. Nor was the subject herself special. It was the _way_ it was drawn, and the emotion behind it.

The subject wasn't posed—Nichyn had captured her mid-thought, staring into space. Starry-eyed, drifting, planning, dreaming…Nichyn's perception was obvious. So was the warmth of his regard.

"You do realize," she absently told him, "that she's really too pretty to be me." Lera glanced up with warm eyes. Nichyn blinked as if in confusion, but she continued before he could say anything. "I love it, Nichyn. Can I—do you want to keep it, or…?"

Nichyn shook off whatever had stymied him. "I drew this one for you." He smiled faintly. "I have others."

At the implication, Lera grinned and blushed. "Thank you."

Nothing was further from her mind, at that moment, than Prophecy.


	94. Ch26: When Destiny Calls

**Chapter Twenty-Six: When Destiny Calls—Run?**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"You're everywhere. Why do you have to be everywhere?"

"Do I make you too lovesick to think straight? Because I'm sure it would make being around me a chore." Despite his cheeky response, Kyp's expression was grim as Sanar sat across from him. Between them, the fire sparked.

They had been among the Mirese priestesses for over a month, but only rarely had they seen Niha. Kyp had long since agreed with Sanar's assessment—the elderly "Mother" was avoiding both of them, and hiding something important. The only question now was whether they should pry.

Kyp had no patience for games—it was why Luke had never sent him on diplomatic missions. He either became frustrated and blew up, or joined in and became too aggressive. Now, a large part of him wanted to shake the truth out of Niha, elderly woman or not. The other part, the one that had a bad feeling about Sanar's part in the Kavishka prophecy, would gladly take Sanar and run. Even if she never forgave him, he wondered if it might not be worth it.

The dilemma had led him away from the abbey and into the night. Encouraged by the cold, he had clumsily made a fire. Not a good one, perhaps, but one better than he had hoped for. Apparently, it was a fire that could draw out Sanar.

"But I'm hardly 'everywhere,'" he told Sanar. "And what are you even _doing_ out here?"

She leaned closer to the fire, and shrugged. "Couldn't sleep."

"So you wandered around in the dark, alone, on a hostile planet?" he demanded, incredulous.

"Niha has fighters on patrol, creating a boundary. It's as safe as this planet really gets, at least above ground." Her eyes flashed. "And I can take care of myself."

Something about the way she said it prodded his memory.

_So you are the girl who lost her temper and killed the High Priest Horaire. _

"Sanar—the High Priest you killed—who was he? I mean, why…"

Kyp Durron did not always think before he spoke. It was a flaw. One that, many a being had reminded him, got him into an awful lot of trouble—more than occasionally.

Sanar's face—and her fists, held in her lap—tightened. "Horaire," she said in a clipped voice, "is the reason I don't sleep well on this planet." She stretched her lips in a gruesome caricature of a smile. "Force of habit."

Kyp's lips thinned at the possibilities offered by her vague explanation. "I'm sorry, I shouldn't have—"

"I murdered him," she flatly told him. "All but in cold blood. I told myself it was for Clayra, but it was probably just another of his games. Clayra was never really a threat to Pucijir's name."

"I can more than guess that he deserved death, Sanar."

"Death on the Sildar," she corrected. "It wasn't my place. I made it petty."

"And what did he do to _you_?"

"It doesn't mat—" But not even Sanar could believe that, and she changed her excuse. "It was for my own revenge, taken without thought. And for that, I was forced to leave Clayra. To _Gantik_, of all people."

Kyp made a disgusted sound in the back of his throat. Blood was thicker than water, but Clayra's attitude—more specifically, her attitude toward Sanar—had not endeared the girl to him.

"So now you can't sleep," he remarked. His voice had become thicker. "Because of how you…reacted?"

She snorted at the euphemism. "No. I don't sleep because of the years before that. Horaire—" Her lips pressed together tensely, and she looked away.

As the silence stretched, Kyp showed his own hand. "I'm not really…much for sleep, myself. It was a problem for—years—after," he swallowed, "after Carida. I couldn't…every time I closed my eyes, I could hear them. I could feel it all, happening again and again, and—" Even now, he could feel the tide rising within him. _Butcher. Murderer. Weak. Such promise in a boy. _Trying to regain his centre, he pinched the bridge of his nose.

Without looking up to see Sanar's reaction, he continued. "Eventually, I—I gained enough control to generally hold the nightmares back. It's amazing, though, what dying can do to your control." He raised his head to half-smile. It was a mere shadow of his normal grin. "Usually, I just go into a trance. Of course, now the Sildar is getting chatty, so…"

Sanar's gaze flew to meet his. "Chatty?" she demanded sharply.

He hesitated only briefly. "Chatty," he repeated. "Sending dreams—nightmares of past events, of their need for Vengeance. 'Hell hath no fury,'" he quoted, almost wryly. "Even during the day it's getting…"

"I thought it was just me," Sanar muttered. "Hearing them sometimes, I mean. But—not hearing exactly…almost…feeling?" She smiled ruefully. "It isn't exactly the clean, noble instrument of myth you might expect, is it?"

The dark-haired man snorted. "Not quite."

Again, their silence carried. The fire was slowly dying; Kyp was about to get more wood to feed it when Sanar spoke.

Her face was hidden both by the shadows, and her hair. "I don't like sleeping here, because—because I didn't…don't…like being surprised. Horaire didn't—he wouldn't—" She gave a muffled curse. "He didn't _rape me_ on a regular night schedule," she said, brutally scraping out the truth. "Usually, he worked during the day. He could play mind games, show me off, involve others… But sometimes he came at night. Usually when I was already exhausted, often when I was still sore. He'd wake me up, and start while I was disoriented. I learned not to sleep—and, if I had to, only in light, quick naps in a different place every time. That way, he couldn't exploit my surprise, and he couldn't find me."

"Gods, Sanar." Kyp's jaw loosened in horror. His hand was, for once, not on the Sildar. He could not blame It for the surge of unadulterated fury in his veins.

Sanar tried to deflect some of the vulnerability in her admission by a (_cracked_) light remark. "Since we're sharing teenage angst."

"Did you ever…talk to anyone about this?" he asked carefully, tensely. "Besides Jaina?" His muscles were still shaking from her confession; he wanted to rip something apart, and spill the High Priest's blood again—

(_the butcher of Carida, now of Pucijir's Order_)

—and then again still.

Kyp Durron held himself still. Decades of control were finally paying off. Sort of.

Still raw, Sanar flared at his question. "I don't need a shrink. I can handle my own stuff."

Kyp raised his hands in surrender. (His hands trembled, though. Just a little.) "I didn't mean anything by it, so you can calm down." He paused. "Luke," he explained, "made me see a therapist for a while after Carida. I hated it—nearly drove my counsellors insane, except that that would have been 'evil.'"

Her lips curved in amusement, almost despite herself. She knew he was trying to draw her back away from the memories, but strangely she didn't mind. She could just imagine Kyp's sarcasm driving a therapist to the couch.

"Did it…help at all?" she queried after a moment.

He shrugged. "Some. I had to talk about stuff—my parents, Kessel…and the obvious. It probably would have been more helpful if I wasn't shutting out, or teasing, the good doctors whenever I had a chance. I talked to a Jedi Mind Healer a couple times, but my therapy ended up mostly being in my missions. They helped me forget. Sometimes."

"I fought and killed Horaire, then focused on surviving a galactic civil war." Sanar shrugged. "Same difference. Of course, my 'surviving' was tied into the trauma, I suppose, but…."

"If you—" Kyp sighed in frustration, and started again. "I know…everything with Horaire, and Gantik, and—"

She raised an eyebrow. "And being the temple paxi?" she suggested tightly.

He cursed, and shook his head. "Never mind. It's personal."

Sanar looked away. Only the fire's embers remained to light her face; it wasn't much. "You want to know how I could use sex to get my way, after being raped." She pinned him with her eyes, and held him there. "Aren't you?"

"It's none of my business."

"No, it isn't," she snapped. "And you can't build a fire worth a damn, either?"

He blinked at her non sequitur. "It'll be fine once I add more wood."

"And until then, I'm freezing," she said tartly.

Rising, he told her, "I'll go get some—"

Kyp imagined he could see Sanar rolling her eyes. "Just be a gentleman, and give me your cloak, Durron. Wouldn't want to leave me alone here, would you?"

Almost tentatively—except that Kyp Durron was _never_ tentative—he grinned at her. He wasn't sure, after his last probe, exactly where he stood with her. It wasn't exactly a new situation. "You can take care of yourself."

"What else have I been doing for the past twenty-two years?" she agreed. "But give me your cloak anyway. I'm not going to stay out much longer. I think I've pretty much frozen my thoughts in place—I might be able to sleep for a couple of hours."

Kyp obediently removed his cloak. Coming around to her side of the fire, he gently placed the thick material around Sanar's shoulders. She was nearly swallowed by it, but not hidden—not to Kyp, who had had at least one eye on her for the better part of five years. Her hair fell forward—tempting him to brush it behind her ear—but he could make a better-than-average guess at her expression.

Abruptly, she pushed away her own hair, and met his eyes challengingly. "For years I didn't," she said bluntly. "I can tease men for what I want, and it was enough—to a point. But I had too little education, no references, no connections, and very little in the way of official experience. Eventually I wasn't left with any other option."

Stunned that she was answering, Kyp dropped down to sit beside her. Sanar's eyes were raw and dark, and she slanted them away just the tiniest bit.

"So I did it. I decided that it was—it was just sex. Just physical, cold, and base. Not for my pleasure—but it never had been, so there was no adjustment required _there_. Necessary for survival. It didn't have an emotional or psychological side. I was the one inciting _lust_, and I wasn't fighting prejudice or hatred, so I could have the power. And then I did it."

Kyp flinched at her flat, cold monologue. "Sanar, that's not—"

She continued, heedless of his interruption. "I left as soon as I could, afterwards, and threw up in a waste disposal unit. Eventually, I got over the sickness, too." She shrugged, appearing considerably more blasé than Kyp knew she had to be.

"By the time I came under Onyx, I was used to it. Of course, my belief that I loved him—however false—helped quite a bit. I almost enjoyed it, a little."

"It's not supposed to be like that." The words clogged in his throat, and he had to haul them out and past his lips. "And don't tell me I only think that because of my gender, either," he snapped, when she rolled her eyes. "Sex—making love—_isn't like that_. It's not rape."

Sanar tossed her hair moodily. "Whatever." At his expression, she smiled thinly. Unconvinced. "Maybe someday I'll find out. Maybe."

The fire went out.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Give us death. Give us our revenge._

_Do you know what they did, Kavishka? Vengeance-bringer?_

_We are judge and jury; we find this planet guilty. Now be the executioner…_

_(The butcher of Carida, now of Pucijir's Order.) _

Kyp swore and nearly dropped the candle he was holding. Some of the hot wax spilled on his hand, and he cursed again. Switching the candle to his left hand, he wiped some of the already solid wax off of his hand. "Force," he muttered. The burned skin stung for a long moment, then suddenly healed. A perk, apparently, of being thrust into the role of a mythical hero.

(_Butcher_

_The same way you came to us, now work for us_)

A door opened down the hall, and Kyp watched as Sanar slipped into her room. On their walk back to the abbey, Kyp had used the Force to slowly soothe her mind. Jaina had taught him the trick early in the Second Imperial War, when the apprentices had begun to have regular nightmares. He hoped it would help Sanar sleep through the night. Love-tinted glasses aside, she looked like hell. He doubted she had slept well since they crashed on NLY.

Sighing, he pushed away thoughts of the complicated Ms. Klis for later. He had left the abbey for a reason. By the time he returned, he had finally come to a decision. Paranoia or no, elderly prioress or no, Kyp refused to simply jump when told how high. The 'Prophecy Crew' had rested, refuelled, and restocked. Now it was time to force Niha's hand.

Heedless of the late hour, Kyp knocked on the door to Miko's room. Impatience quickly turned to chagrin, however, when his former apprentice answered the door with sleep-mussed hair and sleep-fogged eyes.

Well, nothing to do about the time, now. Miko could sleep in, if he had trouble catching up.

"Aren't you well-prepared for any threat," Kyp remarked dryly.

Miko was shirtless, and weapon-less. His feet were bare; one hand rubbed his sleep-softened face. "Shut up," he muttered. "If I slept with a weapon under my pillow, you would have died and re-died years ago. Whaddaya want?"

Before Kyp could speak, he noticed a movement further in the room. Despite Miko's attempt to block the Jedi Master's view, Kyp caught sight of a head of pale blond hair.

"Miko," he said, _almost_ calmly. "What is Krista doing in your room at this hour?"

Miko flushed as red as his hair. "Sleeping," he said defensively. Judging by his resulting expression, it was The Most Idiotic Answer Ever Given.

"Krista Harif is sleeping in your—" Kyp rubbed his eyes. "Sweet Force, I am getting too old for this."

"First of all," Miko rallied, "we're both adults, and I haven't been an apprentice in years."

"Two years," Kyp dryly clarified. "Miko—"

"And _second of all_—" Miko's voice dropped in volume to keep from waking Krista, "—it's not what you think. We're just friends."

Kyp stared at him, gobsmacked, before dragging Miko out into the hallway. "Just friends," he repeated in a harsh whisper, "who _sleep_ together? Do you have any idea how that sounds?"

"It's not how it sounds!" the Jedi Knight snapped. His cheeks were still suffused with red, but he met Kyp's eyes without flinching. "We're sleeping in different beds! The only time we touch at all—"

Now, wasn't there a half-truth.

"—is when she has nightmares from her imprisonment."

"But you're in love with her."

"Did you wake me up to lecture me on Krista?" Miko almost snarled. He always had been rather attached to his sleep.

"Have you even thought this through?" Kyp continued, undeterred. "Never mind that her brothers will kill you. Krista is—"

"Don't you dare finish that sentence."

Kyp raised his hands in a placating surrender. "I wasn't going to say anything Krista wouldn't admit herself—and half of it proudly, even. She likes flirting, and runs from commitment." His voice softened. "She's a nice girl, but nothing is likely to come of it. I don't want you to get hurt."

"I'm doing a sight better with Krista than you are with Sanar," the red-haired knight snapped. "At least Krista doesn't hate the air I breathe." He regretted it immediately, and dropped his eyes to the floor. "I didn't mean to say that."

"Well, you did. And the reason it's _different_ is because I'm not pursuing a romantic relationship with Sanar."

"Aren't you?" Miko challenged. The drowsiness had completely left his eyes, and his arms were folded across in his chest.

"I didn't come to talk about this."

Miko rolled his eyes. "Fine, then. Avoid the tangent _you_ started. So long as you actually _talk_ so I can go back to sleep, I don't care right now. It's too late at night to think straight, let alone deal with your denial."

"You're addicted to caffeine, aren't you?" Kyp commented. "I don't remember you being this grumpy in the morning. No wonder we went through caf so quickly."

Miko shot his former master a lethal glare. "You've got thirty seconds."

"How long do you think we should give Niha to talk before we leave?"

At Kyp's words, Miko straightened. Contention fled as professionalism took over. "You think she's hiding something?"

"I know she is. And it's almost certainly about Sanar."

"Which explains why you look ready to kill something and run."

Kyp shot him an aggrieved look. "How long?"

"A little under a week?" Miko shrugged. "I'll talk to Krista, but…about five days. It should give us time to prepare, and let them know we're doing it. We might even be able to find Braun while we're at it. If he hasn't already left on his crusade."

"He's going to get himself killed," Kyp muttered. "As if this mission needs a _confessed_ suicidal aspect."

"He might cool down. You've got to give him some time." Miko glanced at his door, no doubt thinking of Krista. "Braun and Veras were friends even before they fell in love. He's lost his partner, best friend, and lover for senseless hatred—and while she saved his life. He can't be balanced right now; I might even think less of him if he could. But maybe later he'll come back to himself. As much as anyone can, after…."

"Maybe."

"At least he wants to deal the most death possible," Miko offered with forced optimism. "He can't do that without some calculation."

"As long as his calculation doesn't involve his suicide at the end." Kyp sighed. "I'll let you get back to sleep." He didn't apologize for the sudden wake-up, but it was implied. "First thing tomorrow, we'll spread the word. We'll need, uh, food, maps, water…"

"Hey." Miko gave Kyp a look. "Intel, remember? I've done this before. And your thirty seconds are beyond over. Right now, you're instigating whispers at a late hour, with no one around. Get going before someone gets the wrong idea."

Kyp blinked, then quickly stepped back. Without consciously realizing it, his gaze flitted to Sanar's door.

Miko's lips curled in amusement. "Actually, I was talking about the heartbreaking imp who just woke up in my room, but…"

The Kavishka shuddered. "Right. I'll leave you to deal with her innuendos."

"So generous." Miko rolled his eyes. Free to move from the wall, he made to return to his room. Briefly, he paused and turned around. "I know what I'm doing, Kyp. This isn't impulsive."

"I know." Kyp wondered if, through the doorway, Krista was staring at Miko, or if her mind was drifting amongst the memories of her numerous ex-boyfriends. "I just—be careful."

Miko smirked a little. "Is waiting nearly five years careful enough for you?" He didn't give Kyp a chance to reply. "I'll see you in the morning."

He disappeared into his room.

Kyp cursed.

…_definitely too old for this. No more apprentices who can fall in love with women almost as complicated as Sanar. _

With a last glance at the door, he walked away.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The first proof of success was the arrival of a too-pale girl. She was physically young—perhaps only sixteen. Her eyes, however, followed the Na'Lein mandate: they were far older.

She approached Kyp in the "privacy" of his room, where he had been packing. Briefly, he looked up at her entrance; it was the only sign he gave of knowing she was there. Niha had waited until the third evening before she acknowledged her secrets, even in this way. Her messenger could stew for a few minutes.

Kyp knew when she grew impatient; her discomforted fidgeting gave her away. "Well?" he prompted without looking at her.

When she spoke, her accent was very faint—nearly as much so as Sanar's, when they had first met. "They say you love the daughter of your predecessor." The girl watched him steadily for his reaction.

He pitched her an annoyed look. "Sanar," he corrected. "Her name is _Sanar_. So?"

"Do you?"

She looked far more curious than he had expected. Kyp decided that she must have lived most of her life underground—hearing everything, but seeing only some of the aftermath. She did not have perfect control over her mannerisms and expressions. It was a trait he had not before seen in a Na'Lein woman.

"Do I love Sanar?" he repeated, deliberately ignorant. He wondered if she would let her reaction to _that_ show.

"Yes. Are you in love with Sanar?" Sure enough, her frustration (and curiosity) had visibly increased. Either she wasn't used to games, or she had no true, reflexive fear of men. The latter had rarely proven true for him, even in the planet's rebellious abbey. Or, he considered, it could even be both….

"What's your name?" he asked thoughtfully. He finished folding the last of his clothes, and sat on the bed. Only then did he clearly give her his full attention.

Her brow puckered faintly, but she answered. "Élin. I am Mother Niha's…daughter."

"Daughter as in blood kin, or daughter as in intimate protégé?"

He could almost see her carefully translating the question. Before she answered, Élin asked, "Why?"

"I know nothing about you, and yet you've been sent to dig around in my heart." He gave her a tight smile. "The least you could do is tell me about yourself."

"Niha has been my closest replica of a mother since my own died. I am Niha's daughter. I am also her—her heir, I believe the word is?"

"Her heir. And are you prepared for that future?"

Élin's jaw tensed as if in anger, but he thought he saw distress under her frustration. She was still very young. "Kryntath, do you love Sanar Klis, or not?"

"You are persistent." He smirked. "That's good—you'll need that. But you can't be so visible."

Finally, he took pity on her. Better to save his games for Niha, who deserved them. He was too aggressive for this girl. Eventually, she would have to adjust, but he did not want to be the one to prepare her for such a thing. "Yes," he softly answered. "I love Sanar. I have been told I am quite obvious about it, even."

"I wouldn't know what to look for." As soft as his admission had been, hers was far quieter.

The honesty was brushed aside for her questioning. "Truly?" she checked. "Truly, madly, die-for-her in love?"

Not trusting himself to speak, Kyp nodded. Part of him wondered if she even knew what "truly, madly, die-for her in love" could possibly mean.

Élin gave a sigh of relief. "Good." She smiled, pleased. "That is how it should be."

"_Why?_" he demanded, agonized. "What does she—who I love—have to do with the prophecy? This—anything I may have with Sanar is my own. Why do you people keep trying to drag it in?"

Élin fell short of completely hiding her knowledge.

"You," he wearily told her, "should never go into politics." Taking a deep breath, he let it out unsteadily. "Élin, tell me, please."

"I'm sorry." Her face softened in apparent sympathy. "That is the _only_ thing I can't talk to you about: Sanar."

"And yet you can pick through my love." He snorted bitterly. "Of course. And you all are supposed to be the good guys?"

"Good is relative. You have been denied what you want—but do not yet need—to know. That does not make us evil. You have confused 'good' with 'always honest' or 'forever telling secrets.'"

As reluctant as he was, Kyp realized he had to let it go. He was getting nowhere with her, untried girl or no. "Well, what _will_ you tell me?"

"What do you wish to know?" she returned.

He studied her for a moment. "What is the Sildar, exactly?"

"Vengeance's instrument." She replied seriously, as if she truly thought it was an acceptable answer. At his irritated glance, however, her cheeks pinkened.

"I am aware of that," he said slowly. Quite deliberately, he held his temper. "_What_ is it?"

"J-just that," she stammered. "A small embodiment of Vengeance, meted into an instrument. The gods, at Mujir's behest, created it. The Sildar's Voice is that of Pucijir's victims. It is part of the Light that you never want to have turned on you."

"And beside the obvious, the Sildar does…"

"You know what it does—I will not believe that you have not been warned." Élin's expression was grim. "Vengeance cannot be quenched, Master Durron. Anyone—other than yourself, of course—who touches the Sildar will feel their own damnation. No one alive knows what it feels like—but it is awful, even for an innocent. And none are innocent."

"And the Jirs?"

Élin blinked at him. "What about them?"

"Sanar said that they can't be killed by normal means."

She nodded slowly. "I have heard as much, from several expert death-dealers and spiritual leaders. It would not surprise me." Her gaze sidled away for a moment before returning to his face. "Of course," she said, "do you think Vengeance would see the Jir line end through anything but the Sildar? The Jirs have created much suffering."

Kyp sighed. "Sounds like a more loudly justified Carida."

"Justified." Élin's brow crinkled. "From the root of…'justiss,' yes?" She smiled mirthlessly. "I assume the meaning is not perverted, in your government?"

"When the courts are working right, yeah. They don't always."

She nodded. "Then you will appreciate it."

"Just punishment is not always 'right,'" Kyp snapped. "Why do you refuse to admit it?"

Élin flinched, but surprisingly didn't fall back. "It is the way of things. Justice is right, by definition."

"But _think_! Will a slaughter bring back the women that have been lost?"

"No. It will, however, give life to the countless women alive on this planet."

"Stop being Niha's daughter, and start thinking for yourself." As her eyes grew cold, Kyp muffled a curse. His temper was getting away from him, when he should know better. These people—like his younger self—did not want to think about right and honourable. They didn't care if they acted for the wrong reasons. At least they had more cause than Kyp had. At least they were fighting for a _future_, and not just to avenge wrongs.

He consciously softened his voice. "I do not argue with the cause," he told Élin. "I would not be here if I did. What I _do_ protest is…is how this is being done, and how I think you are viewing it."

None of Élin's earlier softness showed now. In the end, Niha had chosen well. "It is important for the Kavishka to have a solid view of what is right and what is wrong. It will serve you well."

"Two wrongs don't make a right."

"No, they don't. But sometimes you have to—what is the phrase?—fight fires with fires."

"And after?"

Understanding flooded her eyes. It was what the victors would do with Kyp's victory that worried him—and justly so. "I do not know," she replied. "This war will not end with your triumph; it will only give us the tools and chaos to try to make things right."

"Who will lead?"

Élin rested a hand on his shoulder. "The victors' leader, Kavishka. For us, that is Geneva Tal."

"The Resistance leader?" Kyp demanded, aghast.

"She is extreme. If she can successfully hold the position, she will bring many necessary changes."

"Yet I can think of few who are less likely to be _just_."

Her head tilted to the side—again, just a sixteen-year-old girl who heard everything and saw only propaganda. "It bothers you. War."

"Of course," he said through gritted teeth.

Élin smiled, faintly, but it lacked emotion. "Then Prophecy knew exactly what It did," she murmured cryptically.

He was sensing a common trait among Niha and what she touched.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Ah, there you are. I wondered when you would come barrelling through—_

_You _demand_? Really, dear. Horaire is dead—you killed him. There is no need to put up this antagonistic façade. You shouldn't draw such attention to yourself…._

_Well, you _do _have _quite _the mouth on you, don't you? Where did you hear those—oh, never mind._

_Your role…you wish to know of it now, do you? —And stop looking stop self-righteous. You've caused a considerable amount of trouble, trying to throw Prophecy off course. It can't be done; you only annoy It, and sometimes incite It into ruthlessness. The results are never pretty._

_You're a very lucky girl, you know. It's true, so don't huff at me. Throughout your life, you have been loved by Mujir, Who presented you to Prophecy. It judged you worthy._

—_Stop interrupting me, or you'll never find out. I haven't done this in decades. Develop some patience; Mujir knows you have very little…._

_Do you remember when the messen—your brother scribed the Kavishka prophecy? You adored it, and professed your love for the hero. You even wanted Devnos to write you into the story. But your brother was too overprotective of you. Apparently, he resisted. He didn't understand. He wanted you to stay his little sister, his "Brownie," forever._

_But as I said, Prophecy found out about you, and appreciated your fervour for the story. It granted your wish._

_Don't you understand, daughter? You have everything you wanted. You were _written in_. You have the Kavishka's love, just as you wanted. Everything depends on you now._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

There are moments that shape and define you. Sanar Klis had already experienced many of hers:

Hearing the Kavishka story for the first time.

(_This one's my _favourite_! Thank you, Devnos._)

Losing her father—to exile and, more traumatically, to death.

(_Daddy, Daddy, where are you whereareyou, I need you, they're coming, Daddy_.)

Meeting her dream lover for the first time.

(_Wait for me. I'll need you, Sanar Klis._)

Murdering Horaire on the platform of his perverted chapel.

(_I will never leave you. By killing me, niftyax, you tied me to you. You _became _me._)

Saving Jaina Solo's life, and thereby tying them together forever. Finding the person who never left her, who knew her better than anyone and _still cared_.

(_Sanar could have let go—should have, even, considering how quickly her strength was waning. Instead, she anchored Solo's life force to her own, and opened her mind, taking Solo deeper and deeper—the girl's only hope of survival. _ _As she saw everything Solo had lived, fought and died for, she knew Solo could see the same for her_.)

Discovering Devnos' secret, just as he died.

(_What would you say…if I told you that every one of these stories is true?_)

And now.

(_Prophecy granted your wish_.)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Initially, there was a queer, breathless kind of euphoria. She forgot who the Kavishka was, and thought—_the Kavishka, I was written in, he loves me, I'm needed_.

But seconds later, reality cascaded over her in an icy waterfall.

Kyp Durron was the Kavishka.

She had come to terms with his "murder" of her father; she no longer hated him, and had even forgiven him. Recent conversations even had part of her admitting that…that there was something familiar and strangely wonderful about Kyp Durron.

As a girl, she had been girlishly, foolishly in love with the Kavishka. He had been the perfect hero. He fought for the purest of reasons; every battle was perfectly righteous, always against evil. And he always won.

Frankly, at this point in her life, Sanar thought that someone who _always_ won would be kind of…annoying. Especially in a romantic relationship. Jaina was the only exception, and only because she was _Jaina_, and she could pull it off because she was perfect only in that she was _perfect for Sanar_.

Sanar wasn't a little girl anymore. She adored the story; she loved the cause; she would help (Kyp) Durron in any way she could.

But

"I'm sorry," Sanar said, staring at Niha. "What."

"The Kavishka loves you, and—"

"No."

Niha puffed up like a bird that had been sprayed with water. "Excuse me?" she demanded testily.

"He's in love with someone. Else. Someone else. Who is not me."

"You are a blind and foolish girl, and have given him no reason to enlighten you."

(_You know her. If I told you much more, you would know everything_.)

"But—" Sanar's hands (fists) were tight against her forehead. She was almost doubled over against the wall. When had that happened? Sanar couldn't remember moving. "I—I'd—I'd know," she protested. It was feeble. "What are you saying?"

Niha did not spare her. "You were written into Prophecy. You must love him, or he will be judged unworthy of the Sildar."

There were…no words. "What."

To her credit (not that Sanar, even when in her right mind, was keeping track), the prioress did not explode—probably because she recognized just how well Sanar would take this news. "There are certain requirements for being the Kavishka—"

"_I know that!_" Sanar's voice took a turn towards shrill.

"For this Kavishka, your love is one of those requirements. Kyp Durron is foreign, and he gained the position as Kavishka by killing his predecessor. Vengeance can deal with that—if he meets _all_ the mandates. But if you deem him unworthy of your returned love, then the Sildar has no trust in him. It will turn on him."

(_Wait for me. I'll need you. I already do_.)

"I—I'm—" _in love with someone else_. "I can't love him."

"This isn't time to squabble about his crimes of over two decades ago. _Think_, girl." Despite her merciless words, something like pity peered out from Niha's eyes. "They've already prepared you, Sanar Klis. You fell in love with him before you met him, when you did not recognize him."

Sanar's eyes went blank; her face, slack.

(_When will you come for me?  
Soon. Very soon. You could almost say I'm…already there_.)

"No."

Sanar Klis was a fighter, a survivor. She did not call for help, she did not cry, she could do it all on her own—she hadn't had any other option, save for when she was with Jaina, since she was young. Sanar Klis, the girl who lost her temper and killed High Priest Horaire, did not whimper.

The sound she made just _sounded_ like a whimper.

Of course it was just that.

"Shut up. You're lying—"

"All that is left is for you to admit you love him. It is time to stop playing with all your cards hidden, Sanar. You no longer fight for yourself."

(_Don't—believe—the love story… Please, Brownie_.)

That was Niha's mistake: Sanar had never really fought for herself, beyond basic survival. But now, the challenge had been presented. If Niha thought she wouldn't (couldn't), then Sanar could just show her how wrong she was.

Sanar Klis, her father's "storm fighter," never backed down from a challenge. And she never did what everyone told her to do.

(_Don't believe the love story.  
__I'm sorry.  
I love you, Brownie_.)

"So you're saying," Sanar said, "that all the dreams I've been having…they were manufactured."

"They were allowed."

_Oh, Mujir_.

"Allowed."

"He doesn't know about them." Finally—_finally_—Niha realized she should have been doing massive damage control. Sanar was too calm, and too cold. "He doesn't know any of this. But he has been visiting you since you were a teenager."

Sanar's rising temper tripped—just a very little—at the word "teenager."

Her dream lov—no, _Kyp Durron_—had first come when she was twelve. Had Niha…?

Sanar's thoughts were swept away when Niha interrupted them.

"As soon as Prophecy would receive him," Niha continued, more cautiously, "he was allowed to visit you."

"So it's all been a lie."

(_Oh gods, oh Mujir, oh stars, Daddy, Jaina, Devnos, Jaina, my lov—nonono_)

The tears pressed for room to spill, but Sanar Klis did not cry. Not awake, and only ever (sometimes, maybe) in front of Jaina or her belov—

NO.

(_nonowhy can't I stop screaming?_)

Niha reached out. She placed her hands on Sanar's shoulders. "Dear girl," she said.

(Sanar Klis was not a girl; she was barely a woman. She was a fighter/survivor. She could not be in love anymore; how could she be a girl?)

"Dear, dear girl. It is your destiny. Embrace it, for all it is, for every drop of love it symbolizes…_for the love it brings_. You've earned it."

Sanar Klis met Niha's eyes.

Niha's hands dropped as if they had been burned. "He never knew," she whispered, vehement despite the fear-like emotion in her eyes. "Think, girl! It was the only way Prophecy could ensure—"

Sanar Klis slapped Mother Niha twice. Once to shut the blasted woman up. Once as a present for Prophecy.

"Congratulations," she sneered, and Horaire's Stubborn Niftyax was back. "On your unprecedented level of _sheer stupidity_. I'll never be your puppet, and I'll never trust any stirrings of ignorance of my relation to Kyp Durron—not even if it was possible.

"He killed my father. You decided he would love me, and that I _must_ love him back—which means that there is no real love between us at all." Sanar's voice didn't break. Not so Niha could hear it.

(_Don't believe the love story_.)

"You succeeded only in ruining your own damn Prophecy." The Niftyax bared her teeth. "Congratulations."

Sanar Klis marched back to her room, ignoring everyone who called out to her. She flew past Kyp Durron's dawning smile

(_What would you do for her?  
Anything. Everything.  
Then what are you doing here? Why aren't you with her?_)

and every drop of concern.

Sanar Klis didn't need anybody. She never cried, never broke, never called for help.

Not until she was hidden in her room; and then she _broke completely, and cried, and screamed for the only person still left to her._

_Jaina._


	95. Ch27: Again and Again

**Chapter Twenty-Seven: Again and Again**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_There was a place, deep within Sanar, that felt like a dream. It was like sleep in sensation and realness—but this one was only a new harbour, and so it gave itself away._

_It was where Sanar had unknowingly tied herself to Jaina—her lost-now-found sister (reflection), the person she never wanted to trust, or care for, or take comfort in. It was where she could always find the person still (always) left to her._

_Sanar's father and brother were dead, and her love was just a manipulation._

_It could explain the sudden breaking Sanar was experiencing._

"_Jaina? Jaina, where are you—can you…come, please—"_

_But even before she had finished speaking, Sanar was held close to someone much like her. Fingers clung to her and let her cling back; lips close to her ear whispered: "Sanar? Sanar, hold on, hold onto me, we'll make it okay, what is it, what's wrong, I'll always be here for you, Sanar…"_

_And Jaina was real, _so real_, that Sanar clung and cried into her friend's (.'s) shoulder. She curled up in her, and stayed there, breathing in everything Jaina offered._

"_It was all a lie," she later mumbled into Jaina's neck. "All of it—he never loved me, he was never who—they just _manufactured _everything—"_

_Jaina drew Sanar up so that their eyes met. "What was a lie? Sanar, tell me."_

_For no one else would Sanar have explained. No one else—but Jaina's eyes were glassy with her (their) tears, and Sanar knew she felt it all. She was Jaina. Slowly, painfully, Sanar related what Niha had told her._

_Sanar was leaning into her sister, so the younger woman was careful not to react when a man appeared beyond them. A metaphorical mist swirled between the (familiar) stranger and the women._

"_They're trying to say there's no choice," Sanar muttered. Jaina thankfully noticed that her sister was regaining some of her defences, and more of her fire. "And they tried to _make _it happen by shoving us together in dreams, and—how am I ever going to be able to sleep again? I used to feel lo—_safe _there."_

"_Sanar…"_

_Both women froze as the man spoke. He sounded upset—sincere—and approached them carefully._

_He reached out to stroke Sanar's cheek. "Beloved, what's wrong—"_

_Sanar slapped his hand away as the torrent began again. "Get away from me! You're nothing but a _lie_, they just made you up—designed you—" She continued her rant fiercely, caught up in her betrayal. For years she had been made vulnerable to someone she only now_

_(_never again_)_

_liked and trusted. And it didn't mean anything…._

_Jaina stood and separated them. When she spoke, her voice was quite hard. "I think," she said, turning to look at the man, "that you should—"_

_Sanar's sister meant to say, "I think you should go," but surprise changed her mind. "Who…?"_

_The resurrected Jedi—the one who knew things she shouldn't, remembered feelings she had never felt, and heard noises and voices that weren't there—took a step back. "Sanar, this isn't—he's not—"_

_But Sanar wouldn't listen. Her temper was spilling over like lava, a destructive force that had protected her from being hurt before. She punched the man—_

_(dark man, sad man, beloved)_

—_then whirled away from him, holding her grudge tight._

_Jaina stayed where she was for the moment; Sanar probably wouldn't want physical company now. Just the presence—the affirmation—of their bond._

"_Who are you?" she asked the stranger._

_He blinked at her. "Hello, Jaina."_

"_You've got my never-say-cry best friend sobbing in a corner," Jaina snapped. "Now would be a good time to explain yourself."_

_His expression was mournful as he looked past her. "I didn't do this—someone must have spoken out of turn…." He rubbed where Sanar had punched him. "Why won't she let me help her?"_

_Words were the most common lie; facial expressions, the second. For someone like Jaina, however, touch remained honest because few knew how to control it. Fewer still knew how to protect it from beings that had waded through the River. This man—the stranger—looked like her friend, she would give him that. His dark hair was the same; the eyes were the right shade of green-brown-gold. Even the scars traced the exact same map of Kyp's past._

_But Jaina Saw him, and he wasn't Kyp._

_In a move too quick for him to avoid, she grabbed the familiar stranger's wrists. "Who are you?" she demanded._

"_I'm the Kavishka," he snapped, trying to tug his hands free. "Why aren't you helping Sanar? She needs you."_

_Jaina held firm. "Sanar needs to scream and destroy something," Jaina corrected. "And she needs to do that while knowing I'm here, even though I know everything. Now answer my question."_

_He glared at her. "I told you. I'm the Kavishka."_

"_You are not Kyp Durron."_

"_He's the Kavishka right now."_

_Jaina's eyes sharpened. "You," she told him, "are not my friend."_

_Kyp would have made a face and a sarcastic response. This man—the Kavishka?—only frowned. "Just help Sanar."_

"_Don't tell me that," she snapped. "I'm not doing it because you told me to. She's _my—"

_But he had already faded from view. Jaina muttered an ungracious series of words, but did not try to find him again._

"_Sanar, he's gone—"_

_Jaina paused, hopefully searched the room, and groaned._

_The so-called Kavishka was gone. And so was Sanar._

_Sanar, who was ready to tear someone's head off._

_Jaina did not need to consider her options before she, too, blinked out of sight. She just hoped Sanar wouldn't anything irreparable._

_And if she didn't kill Kyp, well—bonus._

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina needn't have worried. Well, not _too_ much. When Sanar had left her haven, she had been ready to hurt anyone who so much as breathed the same air as her. Any of the Mirese adepts or priestesses would do—they'd all known, and _not a one had warned her_. Fortunately for Niha, Sanar didn't trust herself around the prioress; Sanar stayed away, and simmered impotently.

It was harder to restrain herself from attacking Durron. The part of her that had been initially happy was now buried under her defences, ignored, but still wanting to talk to him about it all.

The rest wanted to demand if Kyp had known and, if so, why he hadn't told her. She wanted to make him _not_ just obey Prophecy's decision. She didn't want to be "loved" because someone said she should be. And she would think less of him if he just stood by and accepted it. Solo was always raving about how Kyp preferred brutal honesty; if he became impatient, he tended to _over_-join—become too aggressive. If any of that was true, then he wouldn't like being played with.

But Sanar held herself. Beyond her fury, and below even her hurt, was deep-rooted humiliation. How vulnerable she had made herself to a shade! She had forgotten everything she ever learned; she had forgotten that nothing good came of revealing yourself—especially to a man. Whether he knew about the dreams or not, _Sanar_ knew, would always know. She had stripped herself of every mask and every measure of defence. If Durron ever realized…

…Mujir, what a _fool_ she'd been! She may as well have rolled over and let Horaire kill her all those years ago; she would have been in less jeopardy then.

But worse was that—even furious, even wounded, even humiliated…Sanar remembered.

Remembered how her—how Durron had comforted her after her father's death. How she had returned the favour, even at the darkest point in her life. The words (_whisper_: I love you), then gentle touches and reassurances, every time he helped her survive Horaire and—

Sanar slammed her head back against the wall. A strangled sound—half-scream, half-shriek—escaped her, giving voice to her misery. "Stop it." Her voice cracked. "Shut up and hold up, Klis. Don't do this. _Don't_."

(_I love you_.)

It was better for everyone if Sanar stayed away and alone right now. Especially for Sanar, who thought she might be losing her sanity.

_How could this have happened?_

All that remained—and even that was held slightly separate, because Sanar was _too stupid_ and vulnerable—was her sister, gently easing her way around the shards of Sanar's heart.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The morning the Prophecy Crew finally left the abbey was a chilly, cloudy one. The dawn's vibrant colours were distorted by grey; the wind blew everyone's skin stark red. The mood of the group itself was subdued.

Niha, Dejah and an unknown woman had led the Prophecy Crew several kilometres from the abbey. There, Niha had organized them in a half-circle around her. As she started to speak, Sanar immediately rolled her eyes and left formation.

"You have a long journey ahead of you," Niha told them, her eyes on Sanar. "Not just physically—that you have already greatly finished—but emotionally, spiritually—"

"—Blah, blah, blah, insert more wise, creepy and pseudo-spiritualism here."

At Sanar's interruption, Niha gave her a perturbed look. "You…you must be prepared, whatever happens."

"Why, are you plotting something again?"

This time, Niha subsided. In the Prophecy Crew's last few days at the abbey, Sanar had been impossible to find. Nevertheless, she had shown up to leave on time, with her share of the supplies packed. Niha's attempts to fix her mistake had garnered a murderous glare. When Kyp had tried to talk to the prickly woman, she had simply walked away. Needless to say, his concern had not been assuaged—especially since he knew Niha had finally spoken to Sanar.

"To help you, I am sending along Dejah Salin. She will be the seventh member of the Kavishka's allies."

Braun levelled Niha with a stony glare. "Veras' replacement, you mean." A derogatory remark was implied by his tone.

Niha prevailed. "She will put you into contact with the Resistance when you reach Quatroc, and ensure that Geneva trusts and works with you. Until then, she will serve as translator and guide. With her connections, you should have an easier time finding supplies, through Resistance cells."

She moved as if to touch Kyp's shoulder, but withdrew when he scowled at her. "You will find that, despite our dependence on your victory, you are not alone in this struggle. Take advantage of that, and all…" Her eyes flickered to Sanar, "will go smoothly."

"Like it has up to this point?" Miko pointedly asked.

"You are all being tested," Niha reminded him sharply. "Nothing worth having comes without sacrifice. The gain, itself, is worth the risk."

"Says the old lady staying at home," Krista remarked. She casually linked arms with Miko. "But, hey. Not everyone's meant to walk their talk. Speaking of, who else is ready to blow this joint?"

"Be warned, golden girl," Niha snapped. "Your irreverence will not save you. Not now that you have been Marked."

"Every time you open your mouth, all I hear is 'blah, blah, blah.'"

But despite her flippant comment, Krista looked unnerved. The arm hooked with Miko's tightened as she shifted just slightly closer; her free hand ran through her golden locks. "Marked for a divine future?" she cracked, even uncomfortable. "I think my irreverence will keep me modest. And restrain me from scaring little children—unlike some."

"And now Braun is the only one who hasn't been given some kind of creepy prediction for his future." Miko raised a sardonic eyebrow. "Now, that won't do. Niha, spin up another. C'mon. Do your worst. How is _he_ going to die?" The red-haired Jedi rolled his eyes, muttering, "Doom addict." Without waiting for Niha's reply, the pair left formation to gather their bags.

"You may not like me for the truths I present, Kavishka, but you would be wise not to discount them."

Kyp had been about to approach Sanar. At Niha's words, however, he turned back to scowl. "What did you tell Sanar?"

"I told her the truth of her role in the prophecy." Niha's eyes rested on Sanar's impatient form. Her expression sank, became moodier, before Kyp's hard eyes. "She did not take it well."

"_Obviously_," he bit out.

"I can't tell you her part," the elderly woman apologetically told him. "Unless she wants you to know, you do not yet require that knowledge."

"Then I want nothing more to do with you."

Again she stopped him, this time with a tight grip on his arm. "One last thing."

He wanted to throw her hand off him and stomp away to bluster his way out of the intricate, secret-laden web in which he had found himself. The look in her eyes, however, held him still.

Niha looked scared, though not in a way most people did. "Beware the Sildar," she said. "If Sanar does not… The Sildar is not just a toy. You work Vengeance's will; you do not control It. _Be careful_."

"What do you expect It to do to me?" Kyp's attention was now firmly caught. Immediately, his mind flew to the whispers, and the moments when he could feel the Sildar's burn. "Niha?"

She hesitated, stared at him, glanced at Sanar. "You are the second Kavishka, Kyp Durron. You are not the original; you are not a perfect fit. _Be careful_. You need Sanar on your side."

(_The entire planet—the entire_ galaxy—_could be against you, but if you have Sanar's aid—you cannot lose_.)

_(Do you love Sanar?_)

When Kyp refocused, Niha had left his side and gone to Sanar's.

"Great," he muttered, catching Braun's attention. "Just what Sanar needs: to talk to Niha _again_."

Braun glanced over; Sanar looked ready to explode in Niha's face. "I doubt she'll put up with it much longer. Look."

Kyp sighed when Sanar pushed Niha away from her. "I have a bad feeling about this."

Braun grunted, and threw his bag over his shoulder. "This whole mission is cursed," he muttered darkly. "What's _not_ to have a bad feeling about?"

"Well, I'd feel better if Sanar would look at me," Kyp said, frustrated. "She's never acted like this before—"

But Braun had already walked away. Kyp didn't really blame him.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Braun's pulse thudded in time to his paxi's steps. Sometimes they drowned out the echoes of the past, but only sometimes—_Veras' laughter now carried by the wind, her face now a mirage before him. Whispered plans and "I love you's"; the curve of her neck; her bounty hunter strut_.

_Stop it_. Thoughts of revenge tried to stem the pain, but they were still only marginally successful. Maybe in another month, or another yet after that….

Or maybe it would only heal with oblivion. Suicide missions could cause a lot of damage; it might not even be so bad an end—but no, Braun wouldn't give in like that. He wasn't a coward; he'd fight until there were no enemies, if he could.

"I've seen that look before."

Braun looked up, startled, when an unfamiliar voice interrupted his thoughts. The Mujir Resistance fighter—he was almost certain her name was Dejah—had fallen back from the front of their line, and she now studied him. Her expression was aloof, but not unkind.

"And I've seen _that_ look before," he rejoined.

She gave him a look, but he thought she appeared a little thrown. "You're planning on death."

"I'm not a hazard, if that's what you're wondering," he snapped. His mount snorted, causing Braun to give it an unimpressed look.

"It appears your paxi does not agree." Dejah's smirk crept even into her eyes.

Her eyes were dark, like Veras'. Braun glanced away. "I speak your language fluently," he told her in fluid Na'Lein. "You don't have to struggle through Basic if you don't want to."

This time, she did not even try to hide her surprise. "How?" she asked. Whoever his teacher, they had been thorough; his accent was clean enough to all but hide his foreign birth.

"I'm good with languages," he said. The sandy-haired man would not look at her. "My—my wife—taught me."

Dejah's mind checked Braun against the others. "Your wife is not…with us?"

"Not anymore." His jaw tightened. "She died here. Just before we came to the abbey."

"Oh." Dejah took a moment to process the words and emotions. "How did she die?" There was no "I'm sorry"—not yet, if ever. If she made a rule of it, Dejah would never stop the sympathetic platitudes.

"Holy Brothers." He didn't look at her, but stared straight (blankly) ahead. "They attacked us en masse, out of nowhere."

Dejah had always been sceptical of a man's ability to deeply grieve for a woman. Their sons, of course, were seen to deserve emotion, but wives and daughters…. There were stories—myths, and "personal" accounts of the friends of friends of allies. Dejah didn't trust stories. Looking at Braun, however…she believed.

"So you're out for blood now."

He gave her a faintly impatient look, as if she had asked the stupidest question in the universe. "My wife—whom I _loved_, still love—was murdered in front of my eyes. How can I do any less?"

"You are not Na'Lein by birth, are you?"

He glanced at her quickly, and she thought—_no, not a native, but familiar enough to well know our xenophobia_.

"I am not born of this planet," he admitted as he returned his gaze forward. "And knowing many of the men here, I am glad of it. But my wife was fiercely Na'Lein, and we came here more than I think—" His voice broke a moment, but recovered, "—than either of us really liked."

"She died fighting?"

Leather creaked as Braun clutched his paxi's reins. "She died saving my life."

Dejah's face became masked, but her heart softened. She could realize that Braun had loved his wife; he was not like many of the men she knew. "Then she died fighting for our cause, and for her love. There are worse deaths; I, myself, would choose no other. Grieve and fight, but don't…. Allow yourself forgiveness."

The final thing that painfully convinced her of Braun's decency was the sight of his damp eyes.

Dejah rode forward again, holding in her weary sigh.

_Mujir, why? Why?_

The goddess did not answer; Dejah had never heard Her voice.

She doubted she ever would.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar Klis, Kyp thought resignedly, certainly never did anything by half-measures. It was one of the many traits they shared, but he wasn't appreciating it at the moment. For the past week, she had completely avoided him. To his amazement, this entailed such extreme measures as talking and gossiping with Krista, trying to deal with Clayra, and volunteering herself as a sparring partner from Braun. Recalling the latter disaster, Kyp couldn't help but wince.

At first he had humoured her. Kyp wasn't a particularly…_patient_ person, but he thought Sanar worth it, as long as he could hold his temper. They had known each other for years, and she had stopped seriously threatening his life (barring failure as the Kavishka) a while ago. Further, on their journey, Kyp had realized she was unexpectedly opening up to him. She had become more honest—more vulnerable—with him. Somehow, they had achieved a new level to their balancing act known as a relationship.

But now—Kyp cursed as he tossed on his bed roll. Now that was just _gone_ and he had no idea why. Tonight, he had given up on waiting and had tried to talk to her. She had completely ignored him.

_And you just gave up because you didn't want to push. Moron._

Kyp snorted. No, he hadn't pushed. Sanar's problem could be as easily-fixed as general dislike to counter-balance her short-lived affection. _Or_, he thought, chilled, _being on NLY has reminded her of Carida and she's regressed to never forgiving me and all the ground I won is lost_.

_Or Niha said something the complete opposite of helpful_.

He had a feeling it was the latter—if only because, despite his thorough check of his bedroll—he had not found a fatal booby trap.

_Kriff it_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

They had been travelling for just over a week, mostly a few dunes separate from the well-known roads and markers. For that, at least, Krista could be grateful for Dejah. If she just stopped talking to Miko all the time, of course, Krista might like her better, but—

The blonde shook her head. And there she went, again, being feather-brained and ridiculous. What did it matter if Dejah and Miko talked a lot? Who cared if Miko was making a point of entertaining and engaging Dejah throughout their trip? He was probably gathering information, or something. That said, when she noticed that Miko and Dejah were travelling side-by-side, not speaking, ahead of her, Krista rode up to them quickly.

It was late evening now, and Krista supposed they would be stopping soon to make camp. Just as she was about to greet Miko and Dejah, however, she noticed something that had her perking up. They were approaching a walled city—primitive compared to Coruscant, of course, but the most significant proof of human existence this planet had offered. Dejah had mentioned their next stop at large city, but she had said they would only arrive the next day. As if to prove what the city offered, Krista caught sight of guards walking along the parapets, and a sparse crowd entering and exiting the gates.

"Ooh, other people!" she exclaimed, purposely over-excited. "Dejah, there are other people, with whom we haven't spent the last several months!"

Miko hid his grin. Dejah, for her part, blinked at Krista's earnest, bright face. "There are," she said, almost warily. "This path, as we continue upon it, should take us through Afaloque. Just as we planned. Remember?"

"I know, but there are other people." Krista smiled widely. When Dejah looked away, the blonde winked at Miko. "And shopping! Because these outfits totally cannot be the in the latest fashion, and we have to put that right a.s.a.p. Fixing a planetary government draws attention, after all; all the little anarchist wannabes are going to think we're cool. And cool people set good trends."

Dejah looked both ill and completely confused. Out of sympathy, Miko stifled his laughter, and clapped her solidly on the shoulder as if she was a new Intel team member. "Don't worry, Dejah. She's only kidding—teasing?" he elaborated wryly.

The MR fighter looked at him for a moment, then allowed a flicker of an understanding smile. She looked forward again. Miko felt he had made some progress.

Krista made a face at him. "Spoil sport. And I could totally _not_ be kidding. There are _so_ wannabes in our future. Don't you think there are?"

"There will always be wannabe Krista Harifs," he teased her. "For better or for worse."

She gaped at him, mock-hurt. "And what does that mean?" She leaned to the side, reaching out as if to tickle him as her voice rose in volume. "Huh, Miko? What did—"

"For Mujir's sake," Dejah snapped in a hoarse whisper. "Keep your voice down."

Startled, Miko realized that they had caught the attention of the approaching lone traveller. The man's expression was a mix of confusion and disapproval. He made a strange sign, and tossed a few droplets of his water canteen at Miko.

Krista quieted immediately, abashed and subdued, until the traveller had passed well out of sight. Miko was relieved to see that, at the end of their queue, Sanar refrained from both glaring and cursing. In any case, Kyp was watching her concernedly, which reassured the Jedi Knight.

"Sorry," Krista murmured. She took a deep breath, then checked her head scarf. It had come loose over their days of travelling, and she, careless without an enemy in sight, had not seen to tightening it. Both were quickly and methodically fixed.

"At best, such behaviour will label you prostitute with addled wits. At worst…" Dejah gave Krista a hard look. "Try not to talk. Only the educated speak Basic."

Krista's butter-yellow hair disappeared completely under her scarf. Despite that and her submissively lowered eyes, Miko noticed the stiff indignity in her spine. Under the huge, sail-like sleeves of her outfit, he imagined her hands were in fists. It occurred to him that Krista hadn't been on an Intel mission since the one that led to her imprisonment.

When the coast was clear, he led his paxi closer to hers. Then he slipped his hand under the secrecy of her sleeve, and squeezed her hand. After a moment, the tension in her back eased, and she squeezed back.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The Prophecy Crew set up camp not far outside Afaloque's city gates. Krista still wasn't sure why they couldn't stay with Dejah's MR contact, but Dejah had dismissed the suggestion with a faint shudder. "I'll deal with Teigra when we have to," she had said grimly. "Tomorrow."

"Apparently, Teigra's some kind of extremist," Miko told her later. They were sitting by the fire, across from the Whilems, their dinner containers pushed to the side. Clayra and Gantik were murmuring quietly to each other, Gantik occasionally writing something—Krista assumed it was to their son. Excepting Dejah, who was on watch, the others were in their tents. "At the very least," Miko added, "I don't think she and Dejah get along, exactly."

"Dejah told you that?" Krista asked archly. "I thought she didn't like guys."

"She doesn't." Miko snorted, but wry humour lit his eyes. "I think she was trying to scare me."

"Oh?"

"Teigra apparently seduces men, then kills them in the bloodiest ways possible."

"And she's still _alive_?" Krista demanded. "Talk about hard thrills."

"Yeah, well, it's encouraging that Dejah doesn't approve of her tactics, anyway."

Krista glanced at him oh-so-casually and ignored the strange quirk in her irritability levels. "You have a crush, or something?"

He laughed. "Krista Harif," he said, almost condescendingly. In a move reminiscent of her brothers, but less annoying by half, he ruffled her hair. When her locks were sufficiently frizzy, he shrugged. "She intrigues me."

It wasn't exactly an answer—at least, not one that hinted anything Krista appreciated. "How?"

He raised an eyebrow at her, but shrugged. "I'm not sure she really believes this world will ever change, but she keeps fighting. She's surrounded by extremists, but she isn't blinded by her hatred—she could actually be free once Pucijir's Order is destroyed. And I'm not sure that that's the case for the majority of the MR fighters. If I can help her…show her what _could_ be…."

Krista cuffed him on the shoulder, but shifted closer to him on the sand. Because it was cold, she leaned into him and smiled when his arm settled around her shoulders. "You think too much."

"Probably."

"And you're so _obviously_ a soldier, the way you strategize everything," she continued.

"And you think way more than you pretend." He smirked and winked at her. "Clearly, we're made for each other. Wanna date?"

_Why not?_ a small voice wondered. _Why not?_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Because she was weak, because she was just another broken toy-weapon, Sanar sat alone by the fire after hours of tossing sleeplessness.

Durron was sleeping or at least leaving her alone, thank Mujir, but how long would that last? Her mind was quieter now, and her heart was throwing another rug over the splinters, but she couldn't deal with Durron now. Maybe not ever again. She could barely even sleep, where he kept _looking_ at her and asking _why, why, why?_

Sanar had thought she wanted to be a part of the Kavishka prophecy; she was wiser now. Love only used people like her; it spat in her face, and shoved her to the side. And she was supposed to be Durron's stepping stool because he couldn't pick someone else? It wasn't _her_ fault he had bad eyesight.

The hell with that.


	96. Ch28: Interlude, Part II

Another of those flash-forward chapters. Also, this is the second chapter posted today :)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

**Chapter Twenty-Eight: Interlude, Part II**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Do you want me to bring you anything next time I come?"

Lera smiled up at Nichyn, her arm still hooked in his. "Just yourself. Unless you come with my parents to pick me up before your next scheduled visit. Then make sure someone brings my heels—I'm sick of being so short."

He smirked, but hid it in her hair. "Poor little Lera. You haven't grown in a while, have you?"

"Unlike you and Arelyk," she sulked.

"I like you the way you are."

She sighed exaggeratedly. "Well, of course you do. You have a chin rest for whenever your neck gets tired."

"It is a plus."

She quirked an eyebrow at him. "That phrase is so…so math geek. Are they turning you in a math geek at public school?"

He made a face. "I prefer my politics class."

Lera rolled her eyes as if to say, _Of course_, but then sobered. "You aren't still getting flack from them, are you? Because of me?"

Nichyn's face hardened. "Only if they want a black eye."

She groaned. "Just don't set anyone else up to get expelled, okay? You were lucky the first time, when you didn't get caught."

"For you, anything."

"I can only _guess_ how you'll interpret that answer when it suits you." Despite her words, the elbow she sent his way was playful.

Ahead of them, their path through the gardens ended, opening up to the ward. One of the nurses was leading patients back to the hospital.

Glancing at his chrono, Nichyn sighed. "I should probably get going."

"Yeah. 'Bout that time."

Just before they crossed into the open area, Lera stopped. "Nichyn, there—" She looked at him, then away from his eyes, "th-there is something you could do. Please?"

He blinked down at her. "What is it?" Then he noticed the wariness in her eyes, and his arm tightened around her shoulders. "Lera?"

"A while ago, you said Sanar's sister contacted you."

Nichyn tensed. "She did."

"I—I just…wondered…how she is. I—I mean…I know that she—she had a…hard time with…with everything."

He looked away from her, but she caught the hardness in his expression. "Why?" His voice, usually husky-soft with her, sounded too harsh.

"Nichyn." She turned so she could face him directly. He had tightened, drawn away from her, and it made her regret the question. She disliked it even more when he looked at her again. His grey eyes were wary and careful now, overprotective in a scared way when before they had been relaxed.

Lera forced herself to laugh. It was uncomfortable, though, and heavy realizing the source of Nichyn's concern. "I just—it's me asking you, Nichyn. It's not…h-he left as soon as he realized—"

"Then why do you want to know?" Nichyn looked almost pained. "It's all over now, isn't it?"

"Because I _cared_," she insisted. "For months I cared about what was going on, and I can't just—just turn that off. I care about Sanar, and I know how horrible Jaina must feel—"

At last, he relented and hugged her. "She is the same as always."

Lera deflated. She realized she was clinging to Nichyn, but she didn't care. Blinking back the tears, she tried to summon up a smile; Nichyn could use some reassurance that she wouldn't break. "It isn't really fair that that's still disappointing, is it?"

He sighed and brushed her temple with his lips. "Give it time. That's all we can do."

In the end, maybe that was all she had ever done: given time.


	97. Ch29: Never Again

**Chapter Twenty-Nine: Never (Again)**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"It would be better if only a few went to Afaloque." Dejah cast a look across the group at breakfast. Her eyes darted—almost too quickly to be noticed—to Krista, then Kyp, then away. "I will go, of course. Braun, are you familiar with the Na'Lein market?"

"More than passably."

"I'll go, too," Sanar volunteered. The intensity of her stare at Dejah made it clear that there was only a pretence of suggestion. "I'll fit in perfectly, and we won't have to worry about anyone noticing that Braun isn't Na'Lein."

Dejah replied before Kyp could. "And what would a woman be doing alone, unchaperoned, in a market?" The fighter shook her head sternly. "You know—"

"Then Braun and I can go together, whatever." Sanar rolled her eyes. "I'm hardly defenceless."

"Unless you want to be stoned, you are," Dejah snapped, well-aware of the events preceding Sanar's exile. Niha had made it very clear that Sanar was to stay as safe as possible. Judging by Sanar's expression, however, Dejah would have to form a compromise or risk Sanar running off to get herself killed.

"Very well," she conceded, quite grudgingly. "You and Braun will barter for our supplies—_together_. I have to meet with Teigra, or neither of you would be coming."

Kyp looked determined. "I—"

"Unless you can suddenly speak Na'Lein, _you_ are practicing your swordplay." Dejah's interruption rang crisp and unmoved. "Until we actually start fighting, the rest of you just draw unwanted attention to us."

The Kavishka glanced at Sanar, who pointedly looked away. Dejah wondered what was going on between them, but she refused to get involved. As long as he played his part, she planned to avoid Kyp Durron. She was rather sick of dealing with kryntathi.

She, Braun and Sanar set out for Afaloque immediately after breakfast. If Sanar seemed hell-bent on getting away from the Kavishka, Dejah was quite sure to ignore it.

"We will enter right through the market, so you won't have to look for it." Dejah looked at Sanar as they ascended the hill on which Afaloque was built. "Dried foods, for the most part. If there is any money left, after, you might look for hair dye for Krista."

Sanar nodded and glanced up at the sky. "It's almost nine, I think. What time do you want to meet at?"

"Hopefully Teigra will not take long to persuade." Dejah's lips pursed. "She will want to fight. I will be at the gates within an hour. If you need extra time, we can go back."

Braun checked his blasters. "And in the case of an emergency?"

Dejah slid a glance at Sanar. "If she kills another priest, try to claim responsibility. Then escape the city. We don't want anyone to know that Sanar Klis is alive and back on NLY."

"And to think, I always expected the Kavishka's presence would be hardest to hide." Despite his fragmented relationship with Sanar, Braun looked more amused than disgruntled.

Sanar snorted. "Good thing his isn't—Durron draws as much attention as a mob of hyper five-year-olds."

"Only if the five-year-olds were chasing their sleep-deprived parents." It was the first attempt at humour Braun had made since his wife's murder. Judging by his expression, it hurt like hell.

"He isn't very good at discretion," Sanar agreed. Her face was expressionless.

They passed through the gates with little enough trouble. As an important trading city, Afalogue was used to strangers, even if they did look down upon their visitors.

"The gate in two hours," Dejah repeated to her companions once they had been admitted. "Be careful."

Dejah wasn't sure she trusted Sanar not to lose her temper and expose herself. But she left the infamous virago with the grieving, vengeance-driven widower. At the time, it didn't really seem like she had a lot of choice.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Well."

The infamous priest-murderer scanned the marketplace. Already Dejah had disappeared in the bustling crowd. "I'll get the fruit and spices if you get the meat."

"Sanar—"

"Braun," she interrupted sharply. She caught herself, however, and carefully moderated her voice. "Do you _really_ want to spend the next hour with me?"

He looked away. "It isn't safe for you—"

"For the love of—" She stifled her _Mujir_ just in time, and pulled Braun out of the busy street. "I can take care of myself. Anyway, we'll finish more quickly if we separate." When he still looked hesitant, she rolled her eyes. "Braun, if someone decides to grab a girl for their pleasure, they won't choose a woman well-used and late in childbearing years. And I _can_ play the aging-but-married woman if I have to. Without causing trouble."

Braun gave her an uneasy look. Sanar _was_ older than what, perhaps, most went for, but that hadn't stopped Durron, and it might not slow the older, more experienced men here.

"We'll stay in the same area," he finally conceded. "So I can intervene, if you run into any trouble. I'd rather not have to deal with an inflamed Kyp Durron," he added.

The last part was supposed to be quiet and lost in the crowd. Sanar, however, managed to pick up on it. She sent him a black glare. "Durron has _nothing_—"

"I believe I see a dried meat kiosk," Braun interrupted blithely. "Stay within sight, won't you?"

"—me, and did _everyone_ know except me? Braun!"

He had hurried away, though, and Sanar wasn't about to justify Dejah's wariness by drawing attention to herself. She dragged her temper back under her control with something like caution. Despite her bravado, Sanar was very aware of the eyes that made a point of judging her.

_Khalan_, stranger. If only she could depend on the stigma and prejudice striking her from the list of pleasing girls….

Sanar took a step toward the group of kiosks selling spices, and one away from Braun's "within sight."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

As far as mistakes went, she hadn't made a big one—it was actually kind of monstrous. And Sanar was certain no one (especially Jaina, if she ever found out) would ever let her forget it, either. The dark-haired woman had just finished bargaining for a pound of various spices, and the kiosk owner had left to package her purchase. Waiting impatiently, Sanar had glanced around—and caught the eye of an older, elaborately decorated man.

He reminded her of Gaffil's men, which was her first clue. Gaffil Jir was a cold, ruthless man unblended by impossible ambition or fanaticism. He used everyone. The man staring at her now had been born to be used while thinking himself a prince. Gaffil stole such men from his imperial brother, who could not bear the unreligious. It was to Sanar's confusion—and perhaps some concern—that Rafintair chose to deal with his quite religiously indifferent brother. Rafintair was horrifying; Gaffil, especially a Gaffil unchecked, was—

But she stopped her thoughts. The stranger had removed his eyes from her, but she quickly fell back into that old knowledge which warned her—she had not passed the danger. He was looking for her companion.

_Larifx_. She, too, scanned the crowd for Braun, but could not see him. "Larifx," she cursed again, this time out loud. The stranger was moving, now _striding_ toward her, and she felt her heart constrict. Maybe if she ducked into the crowd—maybe—crossed into an alley, and darted into a building—

"Such words for so lonely a girl."

It was pathetic, as far as "creepy insinuations" went, but Sanar didn't delude herself. This man wasn't a beginner; he expected her to recognize the lack of trying.

—Panicked, she felt her finger, and there was no ring, and she was not wearing a matron's veil, and Horaire's mark had long since been surgically removed.

(_Oh, Mujir, no_)

"You really shouldn't swear. It isn't a proper habit."

"So long as my husband does not mind…." She fisted her ring-less hand within her concealing sleeves.

The stranger gave her a crooked grin, and his eyes devoured her. Sanar was no longer the beautiful slave girl who had incited Onyx's interest, and she clung to that. This man couldn't want her, could he? Not Sanar, with her few, hated grey hairs, and her faint stress lines, and her strength gained from experience. No one wanted _those_, right?

"Your spices, miss." The kiosk owner returned, grumpy from her drastically lowered prices. She thrust the bag into Sanar's hands, and waved away her bargaining-savvy customer.

Sanar had instinctively caught the bag with both hands; her fingers, ring-less and unmarked, betrayed her lack of protection. Having clung to the excuse of only _husband_, she had lost any claim of brother, father, or owner.

_Big—monstrous—mistake_. Never _going to hear the end of it. Ever_.

The stranger smiled and drew her by the elbow into a quieter alley. She thought of running, but doubted she would be able to move—quickly _or_ stealthily—through the packed crowd.

"I haven't seen you before," he commented. He hadn't let go of her elbow. Everything felt cold. "You are not from Afaloque, are you?"

"No," she muttered quickly. No answer was a good one (the truth would label her ready-for-the-taking, a lie would be caught), but silence would have been worse. "No, I'm not."

His hands—big, bejewelled and smooth hands that never worked hard a day in their existence—started to run up and down her arms. Her own limbs hung at her side, frozen. "Please," she heard herself whisper (_so weak_). "Kryntath, I am…I am not yours."

(_broken toy weapon_)

She had forgotten, while playing house with Jaina, what this felt like. Helplessness always choking her, even when she possessed the desperation to lash out in final defence. Horaire, in his twisted way, had been almost easier to fight than this—or any—stranger. She had been young and unbroken, fighting with her family (_Clayra—protect, Devnos—scorn, Mama—forget_) in sight, and she had known how far, and when, and where to fight Horaire. This stranger wanted a shell ready to crumble, and she had no idea who or what he was.

_Stupid, weak, niftyax. Just another broken girl._

But, she thought as her heart re-hardened, she would fight—of course. She always fought. She _always_—

_Can't. Not here._

The crowd, even abruptly thinned in the alley, now roared in her ears. The stranger was still speaking, but she couldn't—couldn't _quite make out_ what he was saying, not over the noise of a hundred witnesses.

_We don't want anyone to know Sanar Klis is alive and back on NLY._

A hundred witnesses would become her murderers and there would be no Onyx to stop them this time. All she would get for fighting was a hail of stones.

Cold slithered through her blood. Maybe, she thought, if she had just _listened_ when Jaina and Kyp tried to teach her mind manipulation—

"I think you should come with me, Quatroc girl."

So he had recognized her accent. Maybe, by now, he'd guessed about her "training" in a priest's house. Wrapped protectively around the Holy City as it was, Quatroc was not known for its innocent girls.

Finally shaken out of her stupor (though still as at a loss as ever), Sanar tried to tug her arms free. If he pulled her to his house, she might be stuck—she would lose so much room for escape— "My husband is just at another kiosk," she babbled, hardly understanding her own words. "We split up to shop more effectively, that's all—my ring was stolen—he'll be here in just a few minutes, he won't appreciate this—"

"No, I most certainly do _not_," a voice slashed through the din.

Sanar nearly collapsed in relief as she turned to the interrupting voice. Her first thought was—_Braun, thank Mujir, Braun realized_—but instead her eyes met not cool grey eyes but furious green ones. No, she quickly amended. Not furious. Kyp Durron was several stages _beyond_ furious.

"What the _hell_ do you think you're doing?" her unlikely saviour demanded. He required barely a second to take in the hands on Sanar's arms, or the command in the dark eyes. "If you don't let her go _this instant_—" But Kyp didn't wait for the stranger to obey. Sanar felt herself pulled free of the stranger's arms and into the safety of Kyp's arms.

The stranger shifted. He had noticed Kyp's use of Basic—usually spoken fluently and well only by Na'Lein nobles. "I apologize," he demurred in rough Basic. "She wears no mark or ring."

Kyp gave the man a look of pure disgust. "And so you decided to just take her? Who do you even think you are?" He had completely donned the arrogant, sneering mask of Carida's butcher.

"I am Henreich Hamlein," the stranger schmoozed. "Several priests are visiting my home this and future nights. I could never so fail as a host to not provide my guests with entertainment."

"I think you should focus more on preparing your house," Kyp snapped.

"Of _course_, kryntath," Henreich murmured (as well as he could over the crowd) obsequiously. He fiddled with his canteen, then took the cap off. "Pucijir _hazarach vida omnis_," he muttered, and tossed some of his water at Kyp and Sanar.

Sanar flinched. _Pucijir, lord forever of all. Devnos…._

Henreich scurried away quickly, but Kyp's glare did not abate until the man was well away. "Braun and Dejah will meet us at the gate," he finally told her. Almost belatedly—or because perhaps he knew her pride all too well—he looked down at her with concerned eyes. "Are you alright? Did he—"

"I'm fine," she bit out. It wasn't as cold as it should have been; she quickly fixed the flaw. "Just another day on this cursed planet. Can we go now?"

When she realized she was still leaning against him, Sanar stopped. She would not be weak.

"Sanar—"

"_Don't_."

He visibly struggled, but held his peace in the turmoil. Instead, in an attempt to distract her, he commented, "Do I look so awful? Really? Because everyone seems to think I need a shower."

She blinked at him, her cold mask faltering slightly. "…What?"

"The water. People keep tossing their water at me. I keep looking around to see which direction the soap is coming from."

She shook her head, and forced a laugh that sounded too thready. "Later." Despite herself, she glanced over her shoulder, where Henreich had disappeared. "Are we going?"

"Of course." Kyp reached as if to take her arm, but she stalked past him.

It was still cold, and the sun felt very much like just a star millions of kilometres away.

Dejah and Braun were, indeed, at the front gate waiting for them. Dejah looked drawn too tight, and Braun upset. Sanar rather doubted she would be allowed on any more shopping trips. Convenient, she conceded reluctantly, since the freedom had been completely spoiled.

Quickly, Dejah checked Sanar with her eyes. "You are okay?" she asked impassively. Only the briefest softening in her eyes betrayed her concern—and guilt, perhaps?

"Don't worry," Sanar all but snarled back. "There aren't any bodies for you to cover up. Ready to go?"

"You don't have the fruit," Braun remarked, not looking at her.

Sanar clutched the neck of bag of herbs. "Oh. Okay." She blinked rapidly. "I'll go back—"

"_No_." Dejah's eyes flashed. "Braun and I will see to it. You and the Kavishka should go ahead."

Sanar refused to look at Durron. "Whatever," she muttered. "We'll see you back at the camp."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Just rest. I'll watch over you_.

She stopped the trembling. She made her hands stop fluttering, and forced her legs to hold her weight.

_I promise it will be okay_.

Kyp had given up trying to comfort her after the second time, when they were out of Afaloque. She'd been unaccountably nasty to him, even for her. Her spewed acid had made its mark, though, or at least reminded him of one of their similarities.

_I love you. Stay as long as you need to._

But he kept talking to fill the void, as they got further and further away from any other people. Sanar's demands that he stop were no more than half-hearted. His rambles jumbled together in her head and interrupted—

_I can't fix it. It's just—temporary. Just for now. I'm so sorry._

—her worse thoughts.

"I just had a bad feeling about the trip, so I followed you. I lost sight of you for a minute—the crowd—or I would have been there sooner."

"I had it under control," she muttered. After glancing around at the isolated region they were walking through, she turned to scowl at her companion.

He gave her a look, and couldn't contain his snort. "Yeah. Right."

Sanar's eyes flashed. "What the kriff is that supposed to mean? I'll have you know, I've gotten out of _plenty_ of worse situations. _Without_ your help. If you were looking for a shrieking damsel, you picked the wrong girl, Durron." She jabbed him in the chest with one finger.

Kyp didn't fall a step back; he took half of one forward. "A shrieking—" he repeated, incredulous. "Who _ever_ gave you the idea, even for a second, that I would want—"

She made a rude, disbelieving sound. "Oh, please! Like there's a single trustworthy guy out there—"

"And we're back to your prejudiced walls again, are we?" he sneered. "Hey, guess what? Besides being _wrong_, those things aren't doing you much good, if that guy could almost—"

Sanar's fragile hold on her emotions broke. "He didn't do anything!" she all but shrieked. "And I wouldn't have let him! I'll _never_—it'll never happen again and I would never let him—_never again_!" And her eyes were almost bursting, trying to keep the tears inside her, but she wouldn't let them escape, even if her heart was clenched so tight she didn't think it still beat, and her body stayed together only through sheer force of crippled will.

Her fists—her knees, her insides, her soul—shook, but she wasn't cold anymore. "I'm not here for you, and I'm not doing anything _for_ you, so you can just—take your _stupid_—" she gasped and sobbed, "stupid dream visits and just—"

_But I want you to thrive, love. Will you do that for me?_

_If you wanted me to, I could fly._

Briefer than a second of surprised confusion flickered across Kyp's face, but just as quickly it vanished. Instead of pursuing her meaning, he took that last step forward and cupped her face in his hands. "Sanar," (_Beloved_,) he said.

His voice had changed again, from hard and callous to gentle and—_oh Mujir_—loving. "Sanar, I know," he deliberately whispered. "You could have taken him out in a second."

It wasn't what she expected, the change was too quick and she hadn't raised her walls against tenderness, so she couldn't stop it and—and—

(_I love you. I love you. IloveyouIloveyouIloveyouIloveyouI_—)

And she shattered in his arms.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_**x**_

* _Niftyath = plural of "niftyax" (and I assume you all know what that one means, after all this time ;))_


	98. Ch30: Choice, Fate, Fiction

This is the second post of the day :)

**_x-x-x-x-x_**

**Chapter Thirty: Choice, Fate, Fiction**

_**x-x-x-x-x**_

They didn't return to the group camp that night, even once Sanar painfully reconstructed her control. Kyp went back briefly to tell the others that he and Sanar would return in the morning. Clayra had been predictably…irritating, and Gantik had glared, but the rest remained subdued. Dejah and Braun must have explained the situation.

Kyp returned with sleeping bags and a side of meat. Sanar, having found secluded access to Afaloque's river, greeted him with wet hair and tears-and-cold-water blotchy skin. Well, greeted in that she looked up from the ground, and moved over to share the log on which she sat. In a testament to her earlier, complete emotional meltdown, she did not instantly try to reset the boundaries of their prickly relationship. She only took the sleeping bag he offered her, unzipped it, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

"The water is cold," she explained. She stared, unseeing, ahead of her; she hadn't let their eyes meet since she pulled out of his embrace an hour earlier.

Cautiously, he raised the edge of her blanket to cover her neck and ears. He didn't know quite what to do for her now that she'd finished her catharsis. Kyp Durron was good at breakdowns—both his own and, in a rough way, others'. The aftermath, which tended to require more delicacy, was not his forté.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, awkwardly. "I brought back some meat, and we have the fruit—"

Sanar didn't reply.

"Okay, then, uh, I'll start a fire…."

"You did it on purpose. Didn't you."

Kyp blinked, and looked at her. "What?"

"You got me mad, then switched gears on me. To…why?"

He thought of a time, over a month ago—_If no one needs me, why am I here?_

"Yes," he said. "I did what I had to."

"Oh, you've never abused _that_ excuse before." She shook her head, frowning at her hands. "But why? I don't—"

Kyp grimaced. "You won't like it."

She snorted. "What, is that a new thing on this trip?"

"Do you really think you could have kept going the way you were?"

She slid off the log to sit on the ground, and leaned back. "So, what, you're the resident snarky therapist now? _You_ know what _I_ need to maintain emotional stability?" As she burrowed further into her sleeping bag, he doubted she desired any kind of response.

"Sanar, what did Niha tell you?" It occurred to him that this might not be the _wisest_ time to ask, but the question was out before he could stop it.

Gripping her blanket, Sanar's knuckles turned white; her expression grew pinched. "I don't want to talk about it."

"And I don't want to have to—to chase you around, begging you to talk to me," he rejoined, a little peevishly.

When she remained rebelliously sullen, he sighed and absently began preparing their fire. "Sanar, you've known more than me about this prophecy from the beginning. And now, apparently, you know something else that makes you refuse to acknowledge my existence. C'mon. I know there's something everyone is hiding from me, and it's starting to freak me out."

"Well, excuse me for not just falling all over myself to make your life a little more comfortable," she snapped. Still drained from before, however, her response lacked true sharpness.

"Why do you always have to—" He released a frustrated sigh, and switched gears. "I'm just worried about you. Is that so awful?"

"Yes, actually," she retorted. His question had roused the chill in her voice. "Given when it stems from, and all."

"What?" He stared at her until her expression, and meaning, sank in. "Oh Force," he groaned. His head sank into his hands.

How long had she known? Had she figured out on her own? —It was possible, true, but after three years of ignorance…. Or had kriffing secret-keeping Niha spilled the beans on the one subject she had _no sithing right_ to touch? And was this what had upset Sanar (_oh stars_), or was there something worse? And—

"It was just one of the many _delightful_ things Niha decided to drop on me without warning." Sanar's expression twisted into something peculiar, indescribable. Only the fact that she had not yet started attacking him kept Kyp mute.

When she did not further explain, however, he cleared his throat. "So she told you that I love—"

"Please don't," she interrupted, almost tripping over her plea. She sounded strained.

He flinched.

"I—I can't…" She rubbed her face wearily, and he noticed that her hands were unsteady. "There's more. I can't process you right now. So you can just—stop looking at me like that."

Kyp's face tightened, despite himself. Upon finding one of his most vulnerable places, she had not torn into him, which was what he had expected. She was ignoring it—far from the worst possibility. But part of him—okay, a lot more of him that he wanted to admit to—resented that she could just brush him aside. That he could matter so very little to her, when she meant so much to him. It wasn't as if he had _chosen_ to fall in love with the one woman in his acquaintance who had very little right to forgive him. His masochistic tendencies did not extend so far as that.

"What's 'more'?" he asked after a pause, not looking at her.

She shot him a look filled with bitterness. "I'm surprised they didn't tell you."

His eyes flicked up to hers, briefly, almost sharply. "They wouldn't tell me anything, I assure you. Why else would I be trying to drag it out of you now?"

She scowled. "Well, it's just that it all works out so _nicely_ for you."

"Forgive me if I doubt that," he interrupted, "as it would be most uncharacteristic of my life." Despite the tension rising within him, Kyp maintained a dry tone.

"Of _yours_?" she sneered. "You chose all this! And I'm constantly stuck with _your_ consequences."

"What," he demanded in a cold voice, "did Niha tell you?"

Suddenly, the fire seemed to go out of her, leaving only bitter embers. "You were never supposed to be the Kavishka," she told him. "It was my _father's_ job, and Prophecy made sure he had everything he needed. You killed him—you became his replacement—but you _don't fit_."

He gaped at her as ice invaded his veins. "So…this…all of this…is a suicide mission, as far as Prophecy is concerned. We're—we're on our own, charging a regime without—"

Sanar, a queer expression on her face, finally interrupted him. "No. Mujir. No." She paused, and winced just a little. "Not…exactly."

He thought of Veras' death and Braun's grieving, and Kyp's face became stern. "Explain."

"You don't fit the requirements."

"So you said."

Her jaw tightened. "You aren't Na'Lein."

"No, I'm not."

"So you have no ties to this planet."

An idea sparked in the back of his mind, but remained undefined. "Not in the traditional sense."

"So they had to make sure you would." Sanar gave him a strange, hard look, then focused straight ahead. "They had to give you a _connection_. And the closer the better, as far as they're concerned. Who cares if it's just—"

She wouldn't look at him, but Kyp couldn't take his eyes off of her. "'The closer the—' My Force. Sanar—?"

"I can't decide which possibility is worst," she told him. Her voice was flat; he didn't know if she really meant for him to hear this. "That you chose the who and how of your 'connection,' so it's all your fault; or that Prophecy decided for us, and you had no choice whatsoever."

Kyp's mouth was dry. He swallowed, and started in a hoarse voice, "I would never expect you to—"

"No," she interrupted, "but _Prophecy_ does. Vengeance, Mujir, whoever is in charge of this mess, does. They expect me to be grateful, and you to deserve it."

"In Basic, Sanar!" he demanded. "I don't have a kriffing clue beyond what you've told me. I can't afford to guess—let alone assume—about something as important as this."

"If I don't fall in love with you, then it all goes to Hell," she snapped, finally looking at him. "Because I'm my father's daughter, because this planet is my home, because I have seen the ugliest sides of your gender. Either I love you, or you don't deserve the Sildar. _That_ is the last and most difficult, most important requirement of being the Kavishka."

Kyp fell back as if he'd been slapped.

She stood, deliberately turning away from him. "It was never a choice, Durron. For either of us." Her voice was hard, but he thought he heard deep hurt hiding behind her cold manner.

"I don't believe that."

He thought of the first time they had spoken—he a ghost, she the only person besides Jaina to whom he had appeared in months. He remembered their first and only kiss, desperately stolen (_Where are you?_) after he had come back to life.

But he also recalled a thousand fights, countless moments—the skitter of his heart, not hours ago, when she had clung to him like he could save her. Like she could forgive him.

"I can't believe that." His voice was firmer this time, almost hard. Sanar wouldn't have often—if ever—heard him use this tone with her; it was a common choice when another Jedi attacked his choices.

"So _you_ decided my fate, then?" she queried. She only almost succeeded in appearing unaffected. "Because I don't appreciate being relegated to the grand destiny of being a _tool_."

"And I think even you know I wouldn't choose that for you, even if I _didn't_ love you," he tersely pointed out. "Yes, Prophecy decided whatever role it wanted you to play—I supposedly don't have a lot of choice in this, either—but that has nothing to do with—with my choices or…or my heart, okay? I fell in love with you because—"

She shook her head sharply, and crossed her arms over her chest. "I don't want to hear this," she almost snarled. Her voice still sounded hoarse from her earlier tears.

"Oh, for the love of—"

"I'm tired!" she all but shouted. He noticed, with only a little relief, that she had finally looked at him again. Her eyes gleamed in the firelight. "I'm tired of all of this, and a dozen more things beside it, and I—I just had everything I thought I knew crushed by Niha, and today—" With desperate hands, she grabbed her sleeping blanket from the ground, and then backed away from him with a sallow complexion. "I can't do this tonight, alright? So just—just pick another girl. Who's not me."

Part of Kyp—the part that wasn't shuddering under this rejection—was suddenly very glad that the Sildar was protectively wrapped a few feet from him. He wondered, too, how much time—if any—he had to fill his list of "requirements" before he failed. The idea of using the Sildar could now only make him even more uneasy than had been usual.

This was all so dreadfully wrong—twisted, really—even for his life. If the love of his life loathed him, he shouldn't have to die for it, and millions of women shouldn't have to suffer the consequences of his own shortcomings.

Not, he admitted as Sanar made her retreat, that the _last_ part was particularly new. _How nice_, he thought, _that that's a constant theme_.

_**x-x-x-x-x**_

In the morning, Kyp and Sanar rejoined their companions. Kyp hadn't slept more than a troubled hour's worth; Sanar looked as if she had deliberately avoided even that much. Neither was very hungry at breakfast.

Across the galaxy, Lera found Nichyn's com-link.

_**x-x-x-x-x**_

Times like these, Gaffil dabbled in petty thoughts. Thoughts like: why was everyone so sure that Gaffil, not Rafintair, was the bastard son? His half-brother knew the flash and dance of his politics—and he even dealt with the priests, portraying (their demanded) fervour. Or insanity. Gaffil only _publicly_ lied about Rafintair's "impending" madness, after all.

Privately—well, Isra had probably shared his opinions within her first week in his quarters. Not that her Resistance had ever said the opposite, as far as he was aware.

_Speaking of Isra_, he thought with something like amusement, _there she goes_. Gaffil stood off to the side in Rafintair's antechamber. It gave him an excellent view—not a secret one, but that wasn't the point—of his imperial half-brother and his own maid.

Isra had scrubbed her face until it looked almost raw; her solemn blue-and-grey outfit hid her figure (not that there was much of one to hide), and washed out any beauty the spy might have had. Rafintair's eyes gleamed at the sight of her. Gaffil only smirked.

In Rafintair's eyes, Isra was an apology for her gender. She was too angular and bare to be attractive (how had she successfully landed in so many royal beds? Perhaps she bled too prettily for her own good). Temptation seemed to come awkwardly—and only distastefully—to her. And Isra knew how to twist it just to her advantage.

It was too bad, really, that she worked for a petty goddess—such a waste of potential. Gaffil would have liked to see her free of the galaxy's lies.

—It was profitless exercise, though, to think such thoughts. They were brought on by dealing with Rafintair's new target for his insanity. Impatience caused Gaffil's petty musings, usually about Rafintair or Isra. What ifs had no true purpose; he had no desire to take his brother's gaudy throne to have to ingratiate himself to the priests for his power. He could control Na'Lein'yhpaon without a crown. And Isra…

Isra was playing her part perfectly, wincing _just so_ as she poured Rafintair's wine. He could almost see her lips (blood red from being scrubbed) pulled tight as she desperately kept a strong grip on the jug, and murmured cringing apologies. Rafintair looked like he could shove her down to the floor right then and there.

With a cursory look around, Gaffil entered his brother's room at a crisp stride. "You wanted to see me," he interrupted, allowing just the smallest hint of his irritation into his voice.

Isra cringed away from the throne and Rafintair. It brought her surprisingly even with Gaffil for a moment, before she submissively took a step behind him. She had an excellent view of Rafintair from there. _Clever girl_, Gaffil thought, not for the first time.

When his half-brother showed no signs of starting their meeting, Gaffil raised an eyebrow. "I assume you called me here for a reason?"

Isra's amusement stirred behind his back. Her snort—silent but heard, if only by him—brushed the ends of his hair, by his ear.

Rafintair gave Isra a dismissive gesture. "Not with the maid."

Out of the corner of his eye, Gaffil saw Isra drop a hasty, embarrassed curtsey. Her shawl, tightly drawn around her sharp shoulders, brushed his back as she hurried out of the room. Gaffil knew he hadn't noticed, and she hadn't been careless.

Once the door shut behind the Resistance spy, Rafintair descended from his dais. "I have been informed that the terrorist band—the one led by the Kavishka—is growing in popularity. The Niftyath are planning; they are becoming brasher."

Rafintair didn't need any more splinters for his empire. Usually, however, he didn't recognize or admit it. This change struck Gaffil as…rather odd. But Rafintair had been acting strangely over this whole matter. He sent too few troops or a clumsy army to take care of the "problem," and even hired a man to try to _kidnap_ one of the Kavishka's party in Afaloque. Gaffil was beginning to wonder if his brother's insanity was deepening.

"Is there anything so different about this Kavishka?" His question was deliberately too nonchalant.

Everything casual was offensive to Rafintair. He glared at his half-brother. "The Kavishka is the niftyax's bedtime story, Gaffil. This—this rabble will stir up _notions_ in the Resistance, they will give the women the necessary tools to spread their lies."

Gaffil made a note to see what—if anything—he could discover about this "rabble" from his spying maid. After all, Rafintair could be dashed to his final raving-mad-for-religion's-lie-paradise, but there _was_ a planet to consider.

"So kill them," he absently told Rafintair. "Discretely as you can, as insignificantly as you are able, without keeping it a secret. Is that all you needed me for?"

Rafintair's eyes flashed. "No. I want you to be the one to cut them down."

_There's a twist_. "No," Gaffil refused, quite firmly. He reminded himself that annoyance was a mere indulgence. "Thank you, but I have business here that takes precedent over your _thugs'_ job." Admittedly, sarcasm was a weakness as well, but sometimes he just couldn't help himself.

The emperor inflated with his self-importance. "I'm afraid you don't. The anniversary of Pucijir's Order is approaching; I want no annoyances. The so-called Kavishka and his party must be annihilated before then. Pucijir will protect you, of course, as a servant of the faith."

_Of course. Wonderful_. Sometimes, Gaffil almost thought Rafintair was smarter than he appeared. Or at least more sarcastic, despite his speeches on Pucijir's honesty and blah, blah, blah. "By sending me, you elevate their mission," he pointed out. "You become the desperate, evil dictator who needs to send his brother to kill a single foreigner."

"You know nothing of spiritual lore," Rafintair fairly spat, "and I have let such failings slide. When I give a command, however, I expect you to follow the path Pucijir—through me—has given you. A man who does not obey has no place in my kingdom."

Gaffil snorted at the threat. He had nothing that Rafintair could take from him, clumsy and over-fervent as his supposedly powerful brother was.

Briefly, though, his mind went elsewhere. It was of no true consequence, not _really_, but Rafintair's tantrums could create a conflict of interest. He wasn't prepared yet—nor sure he wanted—to destroy Rafintair. After all, he'd have to deal with the priests on a daily basis. They were like lafit cockroaches.

"There are many, then," Gaffil said aloud, "who are barred from your empire." Silently, the bastard son thought of how Rafintair could not see his problems for all the seers he had chained up in his torture chambers.

_**x-x-x-x-x**_

Gaffil sent his valet to the kitchens for travelling fare. Because he focused on self-reliance where possible, and desired a wide spread of spies at all times, this left only he and Isra in his rooms.

Perhaps sensing something of his intentions, Isra had paused in her chores to stand and face his stare. She had loosened her hair just slightly from the earlier penance-tight bun, and it grudgingly allowed more softness to her face. Despite it, her features had not magically become prettier, nor her complexion much warmer. She had discarded the over-layer of her outfit; her shoulders and arms were bare, under-fattened and over-muscled for her sex. She met his eyes with her steady grey gaze.

Rafintair had no idea what he tried to subdue. Gaffil couldn't imagine preferring the cringing, broken mask to Isra.

"Have you ever thought of what will happen to you, when I die?"

She raised a sardonic eyebrow. He thought she might have picked that up from him, but wasn't sure it was his place to take credit. "I assume I'll be assigned elsewhere," she pointed out. Her double-meaning couldn't be missed. In a rather impudent move, she sat—all angles, bony knees under her skirt and elbows akimbo—across from him.

For far less that that, he had killed people (_a quick slash of a dagger in a dark alley, support for an assassin's dart in public_). But then, at least he had reasons. Rafintair refused reason.

"Or you could be killed," he told Isra. He stood, and poured himself a glass of water from the pitcher on his desk. "Perhaps to make my bed in Rafintair's paradise." He snorted quietly, couldn't help himself. "Or you could be burned to death beside anyone connected to me, because the emperor decides I'm dangerous."

Isra's expression did not falter. He could feel her eyes on his back. "It's possible," she said. "I will die someday—it could be because of you."

He turned around to face her again, and gave her a thin smile. Without warning, his hand whipped across her face. She took it with only the slightest tightening of her jaw. Her Resistance superiors would have been proud of her.

"Get up and start packing," he snapped. "I have a long trip ahead of me."

She stood quickly, sans grace. "Where are you going?"

"Rafintair is sending me to do some of his grunt work." As she began withdrawing clothes from his drawers, Gaffil studied her. "He wants me to kill the Kavishka. And his companions, of course."

She finished transferring a black tunic to his bed. "The Kavishka," she informed him plainly, "is little more than a myth."

He shrugged, but continued to hold her with his eyes. "It doesn't really matter if it's true. You know my opinion of religion. There is a man _claiming_ to be the hero of the Resistance, and he plans to overthrow my dear brother. His claims—however weak—draw attention and support, as I'm sure you know. Rafintair wants the problem solved as quickly as possible."

"Oh," was all Isra said out loud. It seemed almost like she was smirking at him.

"Something you'd like to add?" he growled.

The smirk vanished behind her docile mask. "No, Your Highness." It lasted only a moment. She had dealt with far worse than a careless blow; she snickered none-too-quietly. "You're such an obedient subject."

He did not let himself be goaded into betraying the intricacies of the situation. "You should restart packing my things—unless you have a burning, masochistic desire to deprive yourself of food and sleep because you dragged through your chores."

She curtseyed as if she was just a maid for the emperor's half-brother.

"I'm expecting you to keep an eye on Rafintair while I'm gone, of course," he said briskly.

She had turned to folding clothes, but paused to understand that she was staying. Passing that, she gave him a quick impudent glance. "I _always_ do," she murmured.

Since her back was to him, he grimaced and took a deep swallow of his water. "Maybe you'll be assigned to him when I'm done with you. Would you like that?" He was amused to see her shudder. Apparently, even a Resistance fighter's devotion to the cause had its limits. "Stop packing so many heavy sweaters. I won't be enduring _that_ many desert nights."

"Are they still in the Plasa region?" Isra queried. "It seems early for Rafintair to send you."

"No, I should meet them in the eastern Karsh area."

She returned one sweater to his drawers, and pulled out two pairs of sand pants. "They're pretty close, then."

"You mean your female friends hadn't warned you? Not too religious of them. But maybe they expected your goddess to warn you."

He thought she would make a comment—his hand kept straying to his belt—but she held her tongue. "But your reaction does suggest some…attachment to this Kavishka idea," he remarked.

She shook out one of his jackets unnecessarily hard. "If there was a saviour—or promised agitator, whatever His Highness is calling the Kavishka—coming for us, I think he would have been here a few centuries ago. Anyway, you don't care about the legends, and I don't pin hopes on fairy tales."

"Well, maybe Mujir was catching up on her beauty sleep." Abandoning his chair, he sat on the bed by his clothes. "Perhaps I'm curious—lately infected by this religion bug that's been floating around. Why don't you tell me about this…fairy tale."

"I have to pack," she said, not looking at him.

This, he thought, wouldn't do at all. Grabbing her wrists, he exerted just the right amount of pressure. She dropped his belt. "It can wait," he told her.

His little spy wouldn't tell him much, but she always said more than she meant to.

He told himself that it wasn't mutual. He, not Isra's Resistance, would destroy his brother.


	99. Ch31: The Worst Kind of Fighter

This is the third post of the day, so if you haven't read the previous two, click back ;)

**_x-x-x-x-x_**

**Chapter Thirty-One: The Worst Kind of Fighter**

_**x-x-x-x-x**_

It was no great surprise to Kyp when Sanar began avoiding him. What displeased him, however, was the way she refused to deal with anything—not her near-attack and subsequent breakdown, and definitely not whatever was most bothering her about her so-called destiny.

The smart thing to do would be to give her plenty of room, and let her come around on her own. It was a not-very-time-honoured tradition with them, usually wrecked when he blew up in her face again—he had a few patience issues. Unfortunately, they had too little time to even attempt the waiting game. They were under two weeks' slow travel from Quatroc. In just a little more time they would be in the serious rebellion business.

In short, they were running out of time. Kyp could barely hold the Sildar without feeling that dull ache of wrongness.

Despite the situation, however, Kyp was not feeling _particularly_ suicidal. Rather than sleeping their first night back with the group, he had opted to meditate. It wouldn't pay to not take some precautions for his temper.

His failure, he estimated, would be as abysmal as always.

_**x-x-x-x-x**_

_Stars—creepy much?_ Sanar shot Kyp a glare before concentrating on the fire. Durron hadn't stopped staring at her since he sat down with the group for dinner. Looking back, he had done a far amount of this sort of thing before; her temper was not soothed by the apparent habitualness. It needed to stop so she could get her head on straight. For a girl who prided herself on weathering the storm without falling all over the place, she had been disgustingly taken off guard by this whole prophecy business.

Contrary to popular opinion, Sanar was not a _total_ emotional idiot. She and Durron had to talk. She knew it—she was just putting it off. For the next century, if possible. It was her plan, and she was sticking to it. Even if—even if sometimes she—

Sanar swore under her breath. _Even if, nothing_, she reminded herself sternly. But it wasn't fair. She'd gotten _used_ to Durron on this trip. She had left with two friends and reunited with her sister; but one friend stayed to cover the Whilems' disappearance, the other was murdered, and Clayra….

Durron had somehow filled the holes when Sanar found herself isolated. But she absolutely refused to just—just give in to some stupid story. She planned to give off serious _I hate you, go away_ vibes. However deep that ache sometimes hit where it shouldn't.

Unfortunately, Kyp Durron was very good at being an ignorant kryntath who missed her vibes. Of course. Hence the staring while travelling, while making camp, and especially while finishing up dinner….

"I want to step up our pace," Dejah told the group. Sanar startled out of her thoughts. "More walking at night—" The fighter ignored Clayra's pained expression, "and earlier mornings. Two weeks' travel is too much, if you want to be ready for the anniversary."

"How will the Resistance react to our arrival?" Miko asked.

Next to her once-partner, Krista looked like she wanted to make a smart aleck comment, but she held her peace. Instead, like no one could see her, the blonde woman stole Miko's right hand.

Dejah gave the two of them a nonplussed look, but answered Miko's question. "You have Niha's support," she said, "which will aid you in some corners. She has proven herself as a prophetess, and she is well-respected by many. Especially those who believe in Mujir and the Prophecy. But…"

"We are strangers," Braun finished when she didn't. He and Veras had covered this well before their marriage. "More than half of us—including the Kavishka—are alien, and we're barging in to declare ourselves their saviours. And some must be tiring of waiting for the gods' actions."

Dejah could not deny his point.

"Does it help that—" Sanar cleared her throat, and tried again. "Because of my father, and my ties to the Resistance…could I help?"

The Resistance fighter shrugged. "Again, more corners' support, yes. But not all. Even if this mission is successful—"

"It will be," Kyp interrupted in a hard voice.

Dejah's gaze flicked briefly from Kyp to Braun. The widower was glaring into the fire. She continued, but now in a more subdued tone. "Even if the Jirs die, and Pucijir's Order is crushed, and the Holy Brothers lose all power, the Resistance will be leery of you." Her lips tightened. "We do not trust strangers."

"Why is that?" Krista suddenly asked. When everyone looked at her askance, she glared. "What? Intel operative here, remember? I can look this pretty _and_ formulate questions using critical thinking and stuff."

"There are stories," Sanar answered a trifle absently. Picking up a handful of sand, she passed it from hand to hand, and watched as the pile got smaller. "That Pucijir's Order started on another world before taking over this one. That the Jirs abused power from a different source—hired off-planet mercenaries, used their strength and weapons and technology against us. But if nothing else, outsiders have never helped us. And…they're very different, very alien. It's hard to trust anything like that on a world like this."

"Of course," she heard Miko grumble under his breath. "Of course people can never be logical."

Sanar didn't reply. Her words rang in her mind, bluntly pointing out why the Sildar could be bitter and proud enough to reject Kyp. Perhaps the question was not, _How could They do this_, but rather, _Why hadn't she seen it coming?_

"We can worry about all this later," Dejah said. "At worst, the Resistance will refuse you full support. You can attack on your own; the Kavishka is meant to be alone in the end."

Sanar and Kyp shifted uncomfortably at what felt like a lie. Everyone tried to pretend not to notice.

"What exactly will be going on when we arrive in Quatroc?" Miko asked. "I assume something is planned—by them—for the anniversary."

Gantik spoke before Dejah did: "More or less the usual, despite the whispers of something bigger. Specially crafted statues, festivals, and more religious rites than you can shake a stick at." He glanced at Sanar. She had once been privy to the darkest parts of the secret rites. "And they will—that is," he faltered. It was hard to break the silence, especially to the outsiders who had no idea. "There will be…the sacrifice."

"Did they ask you to preside over that inconvenient little part?" Sanar asked, almost quietly. Her knuckles whitened as she made her hands into fists.

Kyp made a sound at the back of his throat. For a moment, Sanar knew they were both remembering Devnos' haunted account of the ritual's origins. She felt uncomfortable acknowledging that he understood what they shared. She looked away quickly.

Gantik threw Sanar a frustrated look. "My father was slotted to do it, and when he died—yes, they wanted me to take his place. I refused, obviously; there would have been no way to save the girls while the emperor and the Holy Brothers watched."

No one doubted to whom he was trying to prove himself. Clayra looked like she had bitten into a sour fruit; Kyp glared; Sanar only snorted in disbelief.

Braun spoke up before Sanar could make a scathing comment. "Three sevens to their reign makes this a pretty special year for Pucijir's Order. I'd rather not dismiss 'something bigger,' even if it might be just a rumour."

Sanar grimaced. "Rafintair really likes his religion," she agreed. "If anyone would make it a big deal…"

"We have a—well, several spies, but one in particular, who stays in the palace." Dejah tore a piece out of their bread, and began to pass it around. "Isra. She used to stay at the abbey on occasion—she's very good at what she does. When we arrive in Quatroc, we can see what she knows."

"Isra?" Sanar recognized the name. "A spy? She always seemed so…blunt."

Dejah shrugged. "I haven't seen her in years—I have only read some of her reports." She hesitated. "If you knew Isra, I should probably tell you—she is one of Gaffil's maids."

Sanar's face drained of colour. "You mean she's in Gaffil's bed."

Dejah nodded almost reluctantly. "Rafintair has shown some interest in her as well, though I don't believe anything has happened on that front." She looked down. "Isra could be lying. Geneva has expressed some frustration because of her—apparently she gives facts, but very little else."

"Are you sure we can trust her, then?" When Sanar glared, Gantik defended himself. "Stranger betrayals have happened, Sanar. Gods. I remember Isra, too, you know."

Clayra scowled.

"Isra wouldn't betray us. She was as bent on destroying Pucijir's Order as Geneva could expect in one of her fighters. And the standards can't get much higher than that."

"I've heard nothing of serious suspicion about Isra," Dejah cut in. It was a clear attempt on her part to interrupt a growing argument. "But I have not been in Quatroc for some time. And," she added, "Geneva does not much like me." She shot Miko an unreadable look. "She thinks I am too moderate."

"Well, I think you could stand to enjoy fighting just a little more." Krista blinked and smiled. Her hand, which had been holding Miko's, slipped free, then through his arm. Miko was grinning.

"Bombs are fun," the blond woman continued. Her expression was little more restrained than Miko's. "And you've got pretty much the best reasons a girl could have for wanting destruction."

"You misunderstand me." Dejah's voice was razor sharp. "I have seen the ugliest sides of this planet. There are some who want vengeance more than I, but I assure you that they are few. Geneva and I clash because I do not want this planet to lose its humanity for our victory." She raised her chin. "We deserve uncompromising justice. An ocean of blood does not always have to be a requisite."

"We appreciate the sentiment," Sanar thought she heard Gantik mutter.

"There are always exceptions," she growled back in his direction.

Gantik vehemently swore under his breath. Kyp scowled at Gantik before returning his stare to Sanar.

_Larifx_.

"I seem to recall you pulling more than a few punches, Kris," Miko said. Apparently, everyone planned to simply ignore the escalating tension surrounding certain members of the group.

Or so Sanar thought, until Miko gave Kyp, Gantik and her each a reprimanding look. What did he think they were, eight? Sanar grumbled silently. No one was going to behave just because the red-haired Jedi glared at them.

Krista's jaw tightened, and she brushed a lock of hair out of her face. "You didn't see me after my little holiday near the end of the war."

"Actually," Miko corrected her in a sombre voice, "I did see you."

She gave him a peculiar look. "Weren't you kind of busy not getting caught by the Empire?"

Miko might have flushed, but it was hard to tell in the inconstant fire light. "I was…prepared for what happened," he told her uncomfortably. "Everyone's luck runs out eventually—I had planned my reaction pretty well ahead of time."

Krista began to frown now; Sanar could almost see her mentally arranging the puzzle pieces in her head. "You can't plan for the day your cover is blown. That's why it's so dangerous. If you were around—I was with Jaina in the middle of everything, you can't set up any kind of security for that when it's just a vague possibility."

Miko, frozen for a moment, stared at Krista like a deer in headlights. "Kris—" He grinned nervously. "Um, it's really nothing—"

Now Krista just looked ticked off. "What aren't you telling me?" she demanded. "You know something about what happened, don't you? I broke under interrogation, and you—"

In a desperate move, Miko suddenly lurched forward and planted a deep, rather distracting kiss on his five year crush.

The others blinked. Sanar, thinking abruptly of Kyp's kiss a few years back, thought that Kyp might have passed a few tricks on to his apprentice.

Krista let herself be distracted for a few moments, then pushed Miko back from her. "You," she said almost breathlessly, "are up to something."

"Boys generally are, when they kiss you." Recovering herself, Sanar raised her eyebrow in an overly saucy manner. Krista was too busy staring at Miko to notice. "The question is, how to stomp on their sand castle for the most damage?"

The blonde grabbed Miko's wrists and stood, pulling him up with her. "You, me, talking," she ordered. Then she suddenly grinned (and blushed? Did Krista Harif _blush_?). She released one of Miko's wrists to touch her lips with her fingers. "And…other stuff." Miko acquiesced surprisingly quickly after that.

There wasn't very much privacy in the middle of a desert, but Sanar kicked Gantik when he stared after the couple. "Leave them alone," she ordered, and kicked him again. Harder this time. She was a romantic.

Dejah looked faintly concerned. "Is something wrong?" she asked.

Kyp seemed to understand her actual question, and he came to his once-protégé's defence. "Miko would never hurt her," he stressed.

Sanar told herself that Kyp—_Durron_—hadn't looked at her. There were no signals, or points to be won. Definitely no subtext to be found.

"In the war we just finished, Krista was…hurt," Kyp treaded carefully around the personal subject. "It's been bothering her for a while."

Dejah's eyes narrowed. "And what did Miko have to do with that?"

Kyp sighed. "Miko was a double agent, working against those who captured Krista. Soon after, his true position was revealed to our enemies. From what I've gathered, Krista has always worried that she cracked under the interrogation."

"Did she?" The Resistance fighter still looked too grim.

"I thought you liked Miko," Sanar snapped. She continued before Dejah could respond. "Krista didn't break. Miko overextended his position to get her free. He was found out and hunted because he used all his influence to free his supposed enemy. He's well-proved himself. And _what_ are you staring about _now_, Durron?" she demanded, turning on the Kavishka. His gaze had changed from the general drive-Sanar-insane stare to a stunned expression, gaping jaw included.

"What?" she repeated. "I'm right, aren't I? Miko's the reason Krista didn't get executed or used to madness?"

Kyp released a long, slow breath. "Yes," he conceded. "You haven't told Krista, have you?"

"I'm not a _total_ idiot," she rejoined peevishly.

"You aren't an idiot at all," he snapped. "If—other elements are—playing games, it's not your fault that—"

"Oh, no," she sneered. "That's right—it's your fault, you chose all of this—"

"Whoa, hey," Gantik interrupted. "Notice how Krista and Miko _left_ for their little discussion. This fire is for the rest of us. Who are not going to spit at each other."

"Shut the lafit hell up, Gantik." Sanar's foot connected unerringly with Gantik's left shin. She was not fully gratified even when he flinched in pain. "Maybe you should leave, since you're the one who has the problem."

Over Gantik's shoulder, Miko and Krista were close enough to be kissing. It looked so easy from a distance. Maybe it was, Sanar thought; maybe she was, and always had been, the problem. She had been a nuisance and a complication for years—it had helped her survive more than what her childhood had prepared her for. But—

_Larifx_.

"What is the problem?" Dejah asked unexpectedly. Apparently, she was no longer going to just ignore the tension.

"_Nothing_," Sanar muttered.

"If there is a problem between the Kavishka, and Jarran Klis' daughter," Dejah said sharply, "everyone will be able to pick up on it. And as unprepared as some sections may be to die on strength of your father's name, every one of them would shun a mythical hero for the Klis reality."

The words wrenched Sanar's heart, mixing with Niha's horrible but at least somewhat dismissible warning. Dejah's was simply too blunt and—real. Still, it probably wasn't a good idea to backhand Dejah—she did it anyway, before she realized what had happened. The two women stared at each other.

"I—I…thought you'd duck," Sanar finally muttered.

Dejah let Braun help her back up. "Well, I know how hard you hit, now," she snapped back. "Whatever is brewing between you and the Kavishka, I advise you to resolve it _now_, before you damn your own fairytale."

Sanar's gaze landed on her sister. Clayra's face looked so white and frightened. The younger girl had never liked conflict. The Klis sisters were…slightly different in that respect. Dragging her eyes away from Clayra's, Sanar pinned Dejah with a glare. "And I advise _you_ to shut up. You don't know anything."

"Both of you need to relax," Braun spoke tersely. "I'm pretty sure you're both supposed to be grown women. How about you _act_ like it?"

Dejah yanked away from Braun's restraining hand, and pushed back some of her hair. "I am only trying to ensure the success of a long-awaited prophecy," she said, her voice icy. "Sanar did ask how she could help. If she can't be bothered to compromise a little—"

Kyp said, "That's _enough_, Dejah."

But at the same time, Sanar snarled, "It isn't that easy."

"All I know is that more of this is riding on you than on anyone else, except the Kavishka—and you claim to be more dedicated than even him—but you're letting the past stand between your words and your actions."

Sanar's face lost all colour. Kyp moved as if to—what? Keep her and Dejah from exchanging blows? Drag Sanar away and stifle her with his lafit, sincere, too familiar eyes and reassurances?

Sanar sidestepped him. "It isn't like that," she growled. "It isn't any-stars-kriffing-thing like that—"

"You're the worst kind of fighter," Dejah charged on. "All devotions and words and fire until something comes along that you don't _want_ to do because you're tired or bored or it goes against your morals and—"

But just as Sanar was about to clock her, Dejah took a deep breath, relaxed her stand, and softened her voice. "_And_," she said, "that is what you can expect from Geneva." She raised her hands in peace, but Sanar was too taken off-guard to attack. "I thought you should have some kind of warning."

"What?" Clayra said, her face scrunched in confusion.

"Next time," Kyp told Dejah, "a simple, _I should warn you it'll be difficult_ will suffice." His expression was tight, too restrained.

Sanar—

Sanar didn't think about it.

Dejah gingerly touched her lip. Sanar couldn't tell in the darkness, but she thought the fighter's lip might be bleeding. "Not when it comes to Geneva," the other woman said.

Sanar felt like all bones as she stood, stiff and awkward. Her temples throbbed, her tongue burned from being—unsuccessfully—bitten down upon, her fingernails had stopped and stayed digging into the skin of her palms. "Well," she said. "Thank you. For the—warning. I'll be sure to return the favour sometime."

_You're the worst kind of fighter_.

Dejah gave Sanar something like a smile. Her lip split—this time Sanar was sure—and gleamed in the firelight.

_Horaire bled like a_ _paxi. She would never get him off her skin. Out of her soul._

Sanar wasn't sure she remembered the last time she had struck someone. It probably hadn't been too long ago, she conceded. While she had been working up to Onyx, at the very least; maybe Jaina at some time during their turbulent relationship. Durron had been a moving target more than once, and a good throw could hurt like a punch.

But this felt different. None of the post-Horaire lashings had landed like this. Dejah was a fellow Resistance fighter. _Fellow_. Wasn't she? Or had Prophecy stolen that, too?

Sanar didn't look at Kyp. "I'm turning in early," she told the group. "Going to be busy, and all."

For a moment, she thought Durron was going to follow her. He half-stood, and his eyes were too bright like when he had bitten into something and refused to let it go.

(Let _her_ go, this time?)

If she didn't have first-hand experience of Kyp Durron's stubbornness, the Jaina-part of Sanar would have led to instant recognition. It wasn't _over_, and he didn't want to let it wait a few days, let alone a few hundred years.

He straightened—took a step toward her—Sanar began to get ready to run—

But then he sat back down, scowling but letting it go. For a little bit.

Sanar almost tripped over her own feet as she escaped.

_You're the worst kind of fighter_.

_**x-x-x-x-x**_

"You've got a message."

Isra had been making her bed, but she looked up at the surly interruption. With self-restraint born of years of practice, she managed not to sigh. Sarex. He was one of the few messengers Gaffil could afford to let loose, so the choice made sense, but it still left her with the problem. Already he was eyeing her with his typical arrogance. Of all of the men Gaffil had employed, Sarex was her least favourite. Even the cold-blooded assassins were more bearable; she found that they, at least, could be understood. Her own blood was not particularly rushed with emotion.

Ignoring the letter's carrier, she snatched the sheath of letters from Sarex and began to study them. Long years with Gaffil allowed her to decipher the mad array of his message relatively quickly. By the end, entire paragraphs had been crossed out, and words twisted, but pages of boring administrative tasks were eventually transformed into short queries or commands.

When she had finished, she began to scan it.

_I._

_After S. gives you this, dismiss him. He is no longer under my service, and I cannot imagine that many will wish to claim him. I leave the arrangements of his fate to you_.

It took her off guard, and Isra snorted. She raised her eyes to the footman who, rather presumptuously, had not yet left. Uncharacteristically, his expression betrayed some anxiety. "You," she said, "are absolute dung at being one of Gaffil's spies." She wasn't particularly eloquent, but this man could barely manage to understand blunt. Besides, it was better to let Sarex sweat while she decided what to do with him. "He's suspicious, and he has your head in a noose. Don't be such a fool."

The man turned white as a sheet, all bravado disappearing with her words. Isra wondered what, exactly, he had done to elicit such an obvious threat—and fear, on the messenger's part—from Gaffil. Usually Gaffil preferred subtleties to such games.

There was one possibility that occurred to her, suddenly, but Isra pushed it aside as soon as it came to her. _Ridiculous, weak, foolish idea that will get you killed, Isra_.

With an impatient wave of her left hand, Isra dismissed her audience. "If there is a reply," she told him sharply, "I will send for someone else. Perhaps you should pray to your god."

Her last remark inspired a particularly nasty look, and when he was gone, Isra shook her head. She was slipping. Gaffil tolerated her strength—maybe admired it, maybe laughed at it—but her worst enemies were not men like Gaffil Jir. She had to watch her tongue around the others, especially with Gaffil gone to fight the so-called Kavishka. Of _all_ people.

Realizing that she stood alone in the middle of Gaffil's receiving room, the spy rolled her eyes. She had a hundred things to do before dinner—not the last of which was to finish her report for Geneva. She didn't have time to feel and interpret Gaffil's letter. He had been in one of his playful moods in the cover letter—codes and slights and mocking endearments to throw off any of Rafintair's spies.

"Not that I don't appreciate your blasphemy as much as the next girl," she grumbled out loud.

Making a decision, she strode to her room. The letter she quickly pushed up a well-used slit in her mattress. One of the Gaffil-approved hiding spots. She had a thousand things to do before dinner, and they couldn't involve Gaffil's games.

She told herself that he hadn't given her a legitimate opportunity to both humiliate Sarex and amuse herself. Gaffil didn't know his messenger had been harassing her, or that the man was as blasphemous as a Pirese priest.

Gaffil Jir did not know her at all. She wrote it in her reports for Geneva, and assured everyone of that every time they asked (and they always asked). He couldn't, so it had to be true.

But Isra decided that maybe she could see to Sarex' punishment. For whatever he did to Gaffil.

After all, Gaffil had practically ordered her to enjoy herself.

_Make that a thousand and one things to do_.

_**x-x-x-x-x**_

It was dark night by the time she returned to Gaffil's quarters. Most servants slept in general rooms apart from the more opulent nobility quarters, especially when their master left for an extended period. Because of her position as a spy for both Gaffil and the Resistance, however, Isra had been told to stay in her usual room. It would be very quiet in the apartment. Tired as she was, Isra looked forward to praying through the entire wing. With any luck, Gaffil would figure out what she had done, and go into one of his "disgusted atheist" moods. For such a dangerous man, he could sulk surprisingly well.

She had the presence of mind to stifle her amusement at the idea. Such mischief soon disappeared from her mind, though, when she approached the main hallway. Just before pushing aside the entrance's curtain, Isra heard the first, faint strains of voices.

No one else was supposed to be in Gaffil's wing of the palace. She completed the daily housecleaning herself, and it was not the fifth day for the weekly and complete cleaning. Harvil and Jerica avoided Gaffil's rooms for the comfort of their own, when their master was gone. Tewelin—

But even as she went through the possibilities, Isra was tightening her hair restraint and drooping her shoulders. Rafintair was one of the few people power-high enough to send someone into his brother's home.

But why? What was he doing?

The closer she got to the main bedchamber, the louder the voices became. Falling into the careful shadows, she all but held her breath. If found, she would have an excuse, and Gaffil would probably even back her up. But the Resistance wouldn't thank her for revealing to Rafintair the nature of her relationship with Gaffil.

Of course, they probably thought she could bear being Rafintair's girl, too. _So the grace of Mujir demands_.

"…surprised…agreed…" she heard, but nothing else.

_Well, that won't do_.

Steeling her resolve, Isra slid along the wall until she was as close to the door as possible. If Mujir wanted this, She would just have to distract—

"Gaffil plays his games, but Pucijir will give reasons to convince even the most headstrong servant."

Now Isra couldn't breathe. Rafintair. _Rafintair_ was going through Gaffil's rooms, casually discussing his brother's reactions and faith like—like—

Isra did not eavesdrop on Rafintair unless there was no one else available to try. One of the other girls—the new one, what was her name again? They died so quickly—had been goddess-sent. Isra was _noticeable_, and Rafintair always noticed.

She had the sudden, wild urge to run and get the other spy, who was new but indistinguishable from the other maids. Isra wouldn't have to face Rafintair, who was particularly unpredictable towards her when Gaffil was away.

But then Rafintair spoke again, and Isra knew she couldn't trust anyone else to overhear this conversation.

"Gaffil had his uses, but Pucijir cannot abide pride of such magnitude. At least this way, his sacrifice will reveal a small measure of the Kavishka's strength."

"Even infidels have their place," a familiar voice agreed. Ethin. One of Rafintair's favourite priests. Gaffil couldn't stand him. Isra had her own reasons to loathe the man.

"For the son of a maid, he has held up surprisingly well under his duties. But his poor breeding has been revealed through his disrespect for Pucijir. As my brother has some Jir blood, Pucijir gave him every opportunity to repent for as long as he could. That time is over. It is Pucijir's will, now, that someone devoted take Gaffil's position."

Ethin must have found it painful, but he avoided begging for the job. "Shall we begin dismantling Gaffil's rooms and staff?"

"We wait for my brother's defeat," Rafintair snapped. "As I've told you." Had he just kicked a wall? It sounded like it, but Isra didn't dare move to check. Still, usually Rafintair at least pretended to maintain his self-control. "We'll have to burn most of it," the emperor thought out loud. "Not that there's much to burn. Gaffil never was one for excess."

_Or you could be burned to death…_

Isra did not intend to die because of Gaffil Jir.

"The servants, too, I suppose?" Ethin almost sounded regretful.

A pause, then— "Not all of them. The spies, of course. But some of the men may be sent away to remember Pucijir's offer of forgiveness."

_The spies_? Isra's heart seized up, briefly, even as she forced her way through the adrenaline. How long had Rafintair known members of Gaffil's network?

"And the maid?" Now Ethin was leering.

"The maid will be transferred to my court." Rafintair paused. Isra's heart stopped beating. "I think she may be prepared—or nearly—to take vows."

"Few are," Ethin said, but Isra wasn't paying attention anymore.

_Rafintair. Transferred. Taking vows_.

It was more than Geneva could have hoped for. When the Resistance leader found out, there would be a transfer. Plots. Heresy. Isra would break her soul to make sure the Resistance knew everything.

_Gaffil will—_

But Gaffil would be dead, Isra thought numbly.

With painstaking care that she never forgot, even in her state, she withdrew from Gaffil's quarters. Gaffil wouldn't be stopping Rafintair—he would die, sent out on a suicidal mission—and Geneva would take advantage of that, and—

"Stop it," she muttered in the empty hallway. "Just _stop it_," she repeated, a little louder. Desiring little more at that moment than anonymity, she arranged her scarf over her face to conceal her identity. It took her a moment to realize the scarf was the stone-coloured one, her favourite. It felt soft against her face; despite that, it was stronger than it looked, and it was the only one she could wear on the windy days if she wanted to protect her face from the sand.

Gaffil had given it to her years ago. At the time she had still jumped at every sound, as if the Holy Brothers were going to race in and execute her at any moment.

_Gaffil will be dead_. How strange, her reaction to that statement.

Suddenly impatient, she pushed her reaction aside for later consideration. The absolute last emotion she could afford was panic—and she wouldn't, _couldn't_, panic—but it was closely followed by attachment. In the end, Isra had been chosen for her job for a reason. _So it's time to start thinking_.

The facts: Whatever Geneva's ambitions, Isra had to stay out of sight for a few days, lest Rafintair tried to push his schedule ahead of time. The change could be devastating without a plan. _If_ Gaffil didn't come back.

_If_, not _when_. She reminded herself of the "suicidal" mission semantics. The Kavishka, defeated by no opponent, was not real. Rafintair might believe in the impostor, but the holy emperor was a religious fanatic and a fool.

Gaffil, for whatever his faults, was not stupid. And even Rafintair shouldn't bet against his brother in any kind of honourable combat. Odds would have to be weighed down with a not insignificant portion of Rafintair's worst. It wasn't like Gaffil wouldn't notice if Rafintair sent a dozen Holy Brothers to kill him.

Isra took a calming breath, and forced her mind into gear.

The Kavishka was an old wives' tale.

Gaffil wasn't an _idiot_. If Rafintair put a dagger to Gaffil's back, he would _notice_. Even Rafintair knew that, didn't he? But if the priests were involved…

_What, Isra? __**So what?**_ Isra tightly fisted her right hand, let her fingernails cut into the skin of her palms. She picked up her pace in the hallway, barely caring that she had bumped into two indignant men. They were nobodies. She was still "Gaffil's" girl. They wouldn't attack her. By that reasoning, she thought, she ought to be taking advantage of the next few days.

_So what if the priests and the Holy Brothers are plotting Gaffil's death? So he'll die, and good riddance to the worst threat the Resistance has_.

Geneva would probably be so ecstatic that she even cracked a smile, albeit a scary one.

_And you—_

Isra barged into the maids' quarters for the first time in months. She had a bed in this section, but she hadn't slept a full night in it since being fully transferred to Gaffil's household. The cot wasn't made—another girl had probably long-since stolen the blankets. The pillow had been replaced with a few belongings that didn't fit under the other beds. Isra scowled, and swept the bed clean with a clatter. She ignored the glares and snide remarks sent her way. She needed to lie down before her mental state propelled her into making another person bleed.

_And you will be stuck with Rafintair until you hate yourself even more than you do Rafintair, and you'll kill yourself before you see anything better_.

Mujir, she thought. Turning on her side to face the wall, the spy covered her face with one hand.

Geneva would get off Isra's back. The Resistance would have unprecedented access and power. They might even stand a chance at…at changing _something_. Selfishness wasn't even a choice, now. There was too much to be gained.

(_I think she may be prepared—or nearly—to take vows_.)

And she knew it. Knew she couldn't be selfish. If nothing else, her failure now would label her a traitor to the Resistance and she would be executed. After all this time, she would be denied entry to Mujir's paradise.

She wasn't that good of an actress, she admitted later in the dark. Gaffil knew about her. He had played along for his own reasons, but Isra had no doubt that Gaffil Jir had figured out her secrets, just as she had solved too many of his. He had protected her thus far.

But she was—

Someone was going to make the same observations, the same connections, that Gaffil had. And then she—

She didn't want to die. Not the way Rafintair would plan for her when he found out about her. Not with her only recent memories being of Rafintair and violation and torture and worse still. She had told herself that some day it might come, and that she could handle it, but—

But she had _never wanted this_.

_**x-x-x-x-x**_

"Your Highness." The servant bowed quickly.

It was a new one; hard-cornered and with only enough grey in his hair to have given him some moderation. Even when Gaffil nodded for him to stand at ease, the messenger was alert, ready to take note of everything. Gaffil felt the corners of his mouth twitch upward. This man had Isra's choice written all over him.

"You have something for me?" he asked gruffly. Isra's reply had taken longer than usual. He wasn't used to that—she was quick with both truth and fabrication.

The messenger bowed again and handed him a thick folder.

Before the man could leave, Gaffil spoke. "What happened to the one I sent? Sarex?"

The messenger met Gaffil's eyes levelly. (Definitely Isra's pick.) "Sarex has disappeared."

"Oh?"

"The Holy Brothers will find him soon. Traitors of Pucijir and the Emperor are always caught."

Gaffil didn't laugh. He wouldn't. "What are the charges?" he queried.

"A search of his room revealed Mirese propaganda, revolutionary papers against the Emperor and yourself." The man paused. "And several brothels have claimed his financial patronage. Paid before he tithed."

Gaffil. Did. Not. Laugh. (_That's my girl_.)

He turned away, waving away the messenger. When the man was gone—well, Gaffil might have laughed a _little_ before opening Isra's folder. It was a brilliant example of Isra's trickery, after all. He really couldn't have picked a more fitting end himself for Sarex.

After he read Isra's letter, however, there wasn't a hint of a smile on Gaffil Jir's face.

_G,_

_R is taking your quarters. No doubts that you are not returning. Real mission, poison, attack, I know not. Already subduing the servants, melting valuables. No decision yet about successor._

_R made deal with priests. E came today about my vows ceremony._

_I am of course a slave to the Jir dynasty's will._

_Isra_.

That she had used her name was worrying enough. Initials could be denied, if only for a few moments. Isra had not given herself that back door.

_E came today about my vows ceremony_.

Isra was scared enough to let him know. Assassination attempts were nothing new to him, or even to her. She knew the risks as well as he did, and had never fretted over them. It was one of the reasons he had kept her for so long.

She shouldn't have written this letter, he thought viciously. If he survived—he would survive—then she would continue to work for him and the Resistance. If he died—

She was only another spy, another strategy piece. What did he care about her?

_She should never have written this letter_.


	100. Ch32: Hapan Pride

**Chapter Thirty-Two: Hapan Pride**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

An indignant shriek pierced the air for the tenth time that day, and Lera groaned. _How many times are we going to do this take? _ Jolesp was filming Saja and Kalis' emotional-turmoil-in-the-face-of-coming-danger scene, and Hasi had yet to accept any of the cuts as perfect enough. It was her way, after all, to make everything as difficult as possible. But once Hasi started talking about perfection, Jolesp always recalled his dreams of a masterpiece. Unfortunately, some of the repeatedly recorded scenes were—

"_You don't trust me, do you?!"_

—rather annoying to listen to ad nauseum. Especially with a headache.

"I can't believe you wrote this."

Lera looked up in surprise. Arelyk sat next to her, grinning, without further incentive. "I thought you _liked_ Nichyn," he continued.

She blinked at him. "Of course I do," she told her best friend. "I don't know why you would—"

As if on cue, Hasi slapped Nichyn across the face. "_I wish I had never met you!_" the character half-hissed, half-sobbed. "_Get out of my way_."

Lera winced, but then chuckled under her breath. "I didn't write the slap," she pointed out. "That was all Hasi."

"You didn't stop her, though," Arelyk teased.

She reached over to ruffle his hair playfully. "Since when does Hasi listen to _me_?" she asked innocently.

The sandy-haired boy laughed at her. "Fine. You didn't have anything to do with the slap. But the next scene is going to steal Nichyn's virtue, and I _know_ you wrote that kiss."

Breaking, she grinned at him. "Okay," she admitted. "You got me. But I couldn't justify _not_ putting it in. Hasi would never have let me hear the end of it." Sighing, she leaned back in her chair. A wave of fatigue suddenly rose up in her and tried to drag her under, but Lera managed—just—to shake it off.

"Ler?" Arelyk's hand, warm and calloused, pressed against the back of her shoulder as if to anchor her. "Are you alright?"

She let her eyes close for a moment, but they shot open as a warm thrill tracing her spine. "Thanks," she muttered. Using some of his transferred strength, she mustered up a smile for him. "I just haven't been sleeping well lately," she offered when his look of concern didn't fade.

Arelyk went to say something, then reconsidered. In the conversation's pause, Nichyn made his escape with a frustrated studio door slam. Hasi theatrically burst into tears that somehow only made her look more beautiful.

"_Perfect_!" Jolesp exclaimed. "That one's a wrap! Grab some water—Hasi, clean up—and we'll get everyone together for the op briefing scene."

"Well, that's my cue—"

Arelyk kept his hold on her. "Lera," he entreated. His eyes were steady. Worried.

"I—I'm fine," she insisted, not looking at him.

"You aren't," he corrected. "I know you, Ler. Even with a new brother for me, maybe a new best friend for you—"

She flinched, and glanced at Nichyn. "Arelyk…"

"But you've been my best friend since before the war. I know when something's wrong."

Her shoulders slumped. "I'm just not sleeping well." Seized by inspiration, she said, "I don't much like the dark lately. It can feel like drowning."

At once, Arelyk accepted the explanation—or he at least pretended to. "Mom could help you with that. Or I can, if you'd prefer it—"

"Help you with what?"

Lera's nerves were skittering from weariness, and she startled a little when Nichyn spoke. He had come up behind when she wasn't looking. Silently, she scolded herself; she was usually much better at keeping track of her surroundings outside of the inspiration haze. "Hey," she said quickly. She smiled, and hoped both Nichyn and Arelyk would let it go.

They didn't, because Nichyn frowned. "Are you well?" he murmured. Looking her over, he shook his head slowly. "You don't look so great."

"I'm _fine_," she snapped at both of them. Standing abruptly, she focused on not showing any weakness. "I appreciate your guys' concern. Really, I do. It's just a lack of sleep."

Nichyn's paranoid eyes caught her minute disorientation. When her vision swam, he slipped an arm around her waist. "You should go home and get some sleep, then," he told her.

Arelyk nodded quickly. "Definitely. Jolesp has enough guest rooms. Or one of us could walk you home. And it's the middle of the day—it won't be dark. Nothing like drowning."

That drew a sharp look from Nichyn. "Drowning?"

Lera protested. "We're behind on filming—"

"Well, I'm not sure Jolesp would appreciate your character sleeping through a strategy session." Arelyk grinned at her, now assured of her acquiescence.

His smile called out one of her own, if only briefly. "Okay, whatever, I'll go home. But I _can_ walk on my own. Or take the trans," she added quickly, when Nichyn looked ready to protest. "I'm a big girl. It's just fifteen minutes away."

Arelyk smiled in relief. "Alright, then. I'll go tell Jolesp, okay? And call me tomorrow if you aren't feeling any better."

"I will," she agreed as he left.

Nichyn, however, didn't look as pleased—in fact, he looked more concerned than Arelyk had been. He didn't say anything (yet), though. She hoped for his sake that her sleeping problem resolved itself. Nichyn had enough to worry about without adding her to the list.

Besides, she had a feeling Nichyn might not like what she was doing. Even if it was for _his_ aunt.

He was frowning, still, and Lera's stomach tightened. Leaning in on impulse, she kissed his cheek. "I'll be okay," she told him. She didn't smile too much, because she knew he didn't need that. "I promise."

He stared at her for a moment, until Lera's face turned red. Had she really just kissed Nichyn? she wondered in embarrassment. It had only been friendly, only meant to comfort him, and chase away the too-old look in his eye. But in retrospect, it seemed… Well, she couldn't see a Na'Lein girl, browbeaten _or_ furious, doing anything like it. Had a kiss been too much?

But then he smiled crookedly, and she thought he knew that _she_ had needed that response from him. "I will see you later," he told her. His accent seemed just a touch thicker than usual. "Yes?"

"S-sure," she stuttered. "L-later." Realizing that she was blushing, Lera reddened even more. What was going on with her, anyway? _Sleep deprivation_, suggested a shaky voice inside her head.

They shared a smile, and Lera's blush faded. "Later," she repeated.

She made it to her house, and just into her room, before everything spun and turned black.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Lera's parents were fighting again when Nichyn visited that night. Hallis paused to greet him, and Jamut offered to bring up some treats for Lera and Nichyn. Extricating himself from the awkward situation as quickly as possible, Nichyn merely declined, thanked them, and ascended the stairs. If Lera had gone along with his and Arelyk's pleas, she would have had several hours' sleep. That done, he didn't doubt she would be back up on her feet by now.

He remembered to knock on her door. Shanya and Timmis had finally drilled the practice into his head a month ago. When no answer came, however, he entered without permission. Lera wouldn't mind. At least this time he had come in through the door, rather than the window.

Entering the dark room brought a frown to his face. She _had_ come home to sleep, hadn't she? Or had she snuck out? It wouldn't be a very Lera-like act, sneaking out, but…

Without thinking, he flicked the lights on. Almost immediately, he dimmed them to half-brightness. Lera was only barely sprawled across her bed, and obviously still very much asleep. She hadn't even kicked off her shoes, let alone changed into sleepwear. Checking his second-hand chrono, Nichyn reassured himself that nine hours had passed since he last saw her.

He might have dismissed it, _maybe_, because his mother had occasionally spent days in her room resting. But Lera had never displayed his mother's symptoms. Besides, Lera was…Lera. And Arelyk might have been the first to comment, but Nichyn had noticed the way her health had been spiralling downward.

Hesitating only a little, Nichyn crouched next to Lera's bed. As her curtains were tightly closed, he could only just make out her features in the greatly dimmed light. But the new perspectives—for once more shadow than the familiar light—made Nichyn's hands itch for a stylus and sketchbook. There was something fascinating about the change.

A particularly sharp back-and-forth between Lera's parents penetrated the floor. The teenager scowled down at them—didn't they realize what they were doing to Lera? Movement from Lera's bed, however, soon distracted him. The fingers of her left hand spasmed, then did so again.

His forehead creased. Lera?" he whispered.

She muttered something; her fingers tightened, and her wrist moved jerkily. Her shoulders twisted. Lera almost whimpered—needy, lost, but not high enough in pitch. Her left hand was now speeding through motion—and he realized she was writing. Scrawling on imagined flismi. But whatever she was writing, it wasn't pleasant.

He spared only a moment's more thought—Lera cried something that sounded like "_Sanar!_"—then firmly shook one of her shoulders. She was trembling. "Lera," he said. "It's a nightmare. Wake up."

When she flailed again, he injected some steel into his voice. "_Lera_."

Her eyes flew open. "What—?"

His hands cupped her face. "Are you well? You were—"

But Lera wasn't listening. As quickly as she had woken, she grabbed a notebook from her nightstand. "Sanar, Sildar," she muttered. "Rafintair and then—"

Nichyn's lungs seized at the emperor's name. He knew he had not spoken it since leaving home. If there was even a chance that the Holy Brothers monitored galactic communications… He wouldn't have put Lera in such a situation. What was going _on_?

Lera hadn't taken a moment to get to her desk. Spreading the notebook across her knees—were they getting thinner?—she wrote furiously, nearly tearing into the paper. Still muttering, but incoherent.

Nichyn stared. Her stylus was clutched tightly in her left hand.

He thought of the thousands of times he had watched her write. He thought of his sketches of her—dreamy and pensive, strange and new, lovely. Even at her most inspired, soft—not weak. Stylus held properly in her right hand, not tight enough to cramp her fingers.

He watched Lera.

When she stopped writing, and started crying, he reached up. Took the flimsi—_threw_, he threw the cursed sheets away—and pulled her to him.

When she finally came back to him, his shirt was wet from her tears. Nichyn held her tighter.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"I know you're awake."

She was, but only barely. Only in this state after what felt like hours of drifting between sleep and reality. Reality, Lera found, that was more painful than would have been preferred. She winced at her pounding headache—the tell-tale, increasingly familiar consequence of a session with Devnos. Apparently, her dreams had slipped into a trance. She hoped it was successful, at least.

Everything but Nichyn seemed muted, distant. He was lying next to her—when had he even gotten here, let alone ended up in her bed? But that didn't matter—here he was, his concerned face very close to hers, and his right arm wrapped around her protectively.

The girl tried to get her bearings, but they came slowly. She had come home from—_her mind searched_—from Jolesp's filming, and Hasi's irritating repetitions. Arelyk and Nichyn. They had been worried, and had convinced her to go home. For sleep. She grimaced. Whatever Nichyn had seen, it wasn't part of the "make everything look normal" game plan. But what had he…?

She had come home. Slept. She had definitely slept. But had she rested too long, and Nichyn had found her like that? But so often now she flitted restlessly from dream to consciousness; she would have woken up if he had made any noise…

Of course, she admitted, this was Nichyn. He could be very quiet when he wished.

Nichyn's breath was warm near her face. As if sensing her questions, he spoke. "You left Jolesp's house twelve hours ago. Three hours before this, I came to see if you were well. Instead, you were still sleeping, and I was concerned."

_Okay. That's okay, Lera. You can fix that_. "I told you," she tried, her voice rusty with too much sleep. "I haven't been sleeping well." She stretched her lips a little. "I must have been catching up."

He tucked her hair behind her ear. His expression, normally solemn, was particularly grim. His eyes were wider, more vulnerable than she had previously seen them. "That wasn't what worried me the most."

She didn't like where this was going. Didn't like the look in his eyes, or that he was so clearly upset. He didn't smile enough. Sometimes she could sometimes make him brighten—but now he was concerned for her. She might not be able to make him smile tonight.

"When you woke up, you—you were—" Nichyn's eyes finally told her what he could not say. _Far too much for you to explain away_.

"Oh." She sat up slowly, her back to him. "Um, I—I see. S-so you s-saw…"

"What is going on, Lera?"

She crawled out of her bed, and stood. It was so cold for Gallinore, tonight. Making her sleep-heavy muscles work, she went to her closet and searched it quickly. She found an oversized sweater, and pulled it on over her T-shirt. Finally, she turned around to look at him. "I'm not sure how you're going to react," she said nervously.

"Then I think you should definitely tell me." He sat up, but had not moved any more than that. Lera expected this to change soon.

"A-a couple m-months ago, I—that is, y-your uncle—I-I mean…"

Nichyn's expression darkened, and his entire body tensed in preparation for a blow. "It's really bad. Isn't it?"

She snorted, and shook her head at her own dramatics. _Way to make everything worse, Verili_. "No. I mean, yes—but not for me. For your aunt, it could be very bad."

"My…aunt?" he repeated blankly.

Lera slowly nodded. "Sanar. It's about the—the prophecy."

"Prophecy." He stared at her for a moment. He shook his head. "What prophecy?"

"The one Devnos recorded. About destroying Pucijir's Order."

"_Devnos_? Devnos—as in my mother's brother? Isn't he—" _dead_, but he shook that off as unimportant. "Lera, what— How do you even know any of this?"

Her hands twisted in the bulk of her sweater as she looked away. Nichyn wasn't going to take this well. She wished she had never gone home and slept while he and Arelyk were worrying. "I don't now h-how to say this without making you think I'm c-crazy."

Nichyn took in her pallor, her darkened eyes. "I won't," he promised. "Just tell me."

It was her turn to stare. "I—" With frightening intensity, she flashed back to drowning, and a voice in her head promising she would be okay. It would have been helpful for that voice to show up again. _He_ had come to _her_, after all.

"Whatever it is," Nichyn said, "we'll get through it. Come on." He patted the spot next to him coaxingly. His eyes were still too dark.

She took a hesitant step, and then another, and then finally crossed the room and sat next to him on the bed. "It started a couple months ago, not long after—after I almost drowned. I never told you something that happened."

He stiffened. "You didn't really speak of it at all."

"No, I—I couldn't." She found his left hand, and squeezed it. "When I was—in the water—I was barely conscious, because of my head. I almost blacked out completely, but a…voice kept me with it, and helped me work through the concussion. If he hadn't helped me, I—I would have died."

She saw him swallow. "A voice. Devnos?"

"I didn't know it was him until later—at the time, all I knew was that it couldn't be just my imagination. Nichyn, I grew up with Arelyk. I know what a Force voice feels like. He's real."

"I believe you," Nichyn was quick to assure. "What happened next?"

"A few weeks later, he came and told me—he said I was the only one he could reach. They were blocking him." At Nichyn's confused expression, she clarified. "Prophecy and—and Vengeance, I suppose. Although I get the sense that Vengeance…doesn't have the full story. About what happens to Sanar." She frowned warily. "Nichyn, what's wrong?"

He had paled considerably. With a wordless look for her, he stood. He walked the length of the room, then turned around and paced back. When he came to her again, he stopped. "What is supposed to happen to Sanar?"

Nichyn hadn't claimed either Sanar or Devnos as family. Lera thought it strange, as she felt oversensitive to the blood links. At his question, however, she flushed. "I don't—I can't really say."

"He didn't _tell_ you?" Nichyn demanded. "You're losing sleep, ruining your health, and he didn't—"

"No, he told me," she corrected. Her voice was a touch too harsh. "The first night, he told me everything. But it isn't…safe for me to know. Prophecy might pick up on it, and stop me from helping. I remember—I remember how horrified I was, how much I needed to react to the truth. But I can't recall the details."

"Then how are you supposed to help?"

She bristled at his tone. "I write. It's—hard to explain, but I—it's like I'm…in a trance, and Devnos dictates a message. It takes so long because it's garbled with my thoughts, and so that Prophecy can't catch on. I think we're almost done." She smiled at him.

Nichyn loosed a torrent of Na'Lein words. They didn't sound particularly polite. Finally, "I cannot believe you _agreed_ to this. Do you have _any_ idea how dangerous this is? Do you? Or do you just not care?"

Instantly, she was on her feet and nose-to-nose with him. "You're completely overreacting," she firmly told him. "Devnos is taking every precaution—"

"Every precaution would be leaving you out of it," Nichyn all but snarled.

The force of his anger nearly bowled her over, but Lera refused to be intimidated. "—_and_," she continued, "I happen to think that saving a life is worth a little risk!"

"_A little risk?_" Nichyn repeated, aghast. "Lera. If Devnos is telling you the truth—"

"He is."

"Then you're going against—against _prophecy_, against the will of the goddess. Why do you think Devnos is trying to be so 'careful'? This is _dangerous_, and you have to put an end to it. Right now, before They _do_ catch on, and you end up hurt—or worse."

"This is about saving a woman's life." Lera's voice was quiet, but it couldn't be described as weak.

"How do you know? You can't remember what is supposed to happen, can you? For all you know, she gets hurt. Maybe she—she loses a leg. I'm sure her brother would want to prevent that, but it's none of your business. Sanar used to be part of the Resistance, she accepted the risks years ago."

"Didn't your mother do the same?" Lera retorted. "Gantik? But you'd help them if they needed it."

"You don't even know Sanar," Nichyn hissed. "How is your life worth that of a stranger?"

"Someone is in very real danger, and I can do something to help them." Lera crossed her arms over her chest.

"And it is very noble of you," Nichyn replied, his eyes still hard. "But I cannot accept the risks."

She raised her chin. "They aren't for you to accept."

Nichyn's hands became fists. "I can't protect you when you do something like this." Panic flitted across his face.

Her temper abated some at his concern. Still, her pride pricked at his assumption that she needed a boy to save her. "I didn't ask for it." To soften the blow, she placed her hands on his shoulders. "Nichyn. You aren't on Na'Lein'yhpaon anymore. I'll be fine."

"You cannot beat the gods, Lera. Nature gets what It wants, and It will destroy anything that gets in Its way. You're just a girl, and that makes you—"

"Yes?" She crossed her arms over her chest. "It makes me _what_?"

He opened his mouth to speak—stopped—swallowed. Searched her face. "I've seen too many girls hurt, Lera."

"I'm not going to stop." The pride of the Hapan matriarchy stiffened Lera's voice. She had never really bought into the gender inequalities—her father, and Gallinore's mildness had seen to that—but challenge presented an irresistible opportunity. "And you can't change that."

Nichyn's concern turned into anger. "Then maybe I should go."

Lera took a deep breath—and released it. A dozen reassuring responses crawled over her tongue. Capitulation—easy, gentle agreement to make him smile and not worry—called her name. She held her ground. "If you think it best."

He didn't move as the anger slowly drained from his face.

She shuffled her feet a little, glanced at the window. The silence went on, on and on, and she ached to realize that it wasn't their typical, comforting brand. It felt stifling.

She thought of her parents, and one of them obliged her with a slammed door. Lera wondered if it was her mother's or her father's turn to cry alone.

"I don't want to fight with you," she murmured. "I just…I want you to understand."

Nichyn only glared at the floor.

When he didn't leave, she struggled to smile. "So, how did you end up in my bed, anyway?" _Make him smile, Lera_.

He looked up, but his jaw had tightened. "After he finished—when you stopped writing…you started crying, and I just wanted to…" He stumbled for words. Now adjusted to using Basic, it seemed Nichyn only fumbled for words because of her. "Comfort you. You were so upset." He looked away.

"I don't remember that," she confessed in hushed tones. "I—I guess—"

He strode from the room, and didn't look back. She had chosen the wrong response. No smiles tonight.

"Thank you," she finished miserably.


	101. Ch33: The Sildar's Song

Chapter Thirty-Three: The Sildar's Song

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Isra's letter of selfishness brought only silence. She had known it would. Gaffil was a being governed by that which best served him, and she had given him no reason to help her.

She had forgotten her place. Lost her level head in the web of Gaffil's plots. It happened to everyone, eventually. She hadn't expected to be immune. She _hadn't_.

Isra prepared for her fate.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

This, Gaffil mused, was the boring part of an attack. The part where all the threads had to be fisted together, where they could so easily fall apart—but still, the boring part. He had more patience than his older brother, but he disliked seeing time wasted over others' preparations and reactions.

At the moment, he and his unit were concealed by a clump of sparse trees, and behind a hill. The couple they were observing had been identified as part of the "Kavishka's" increasingly infamous group. How they had remained thus far oblivious to Gaffil's military unit was a source of disdain of Gaffil's part. They could have at least sent some suspicious looks over their shoulders. Instead, they seemed intent on their mild bickering. _Marriage_, Gaffil thought with a snort.

"When do you want to send them in?" asked the woman at his side.

Gaffil glanced at her. The Resistance really had gotten greedy, he thought, with Isra in his bed and his confidence. A few months ago, this one—Dara—had been transferred to his personal military unit with naught but hastily made papers, some talent with a dagger (with the MR as her only possible trainer), and a sultry gaze that crossed the border of indecency. He doubted, however, that Dara was as loyal to the MR as Isra. And even if she was faithful, she was a damned lazy spy.

"A few moments, and the archers can take these two out," he said after a moment. "Unless they start talking about something important, they're worthless to us."

Dara nodded professionally, but the look she gave him was far too bawdy, obvious. Isra clearly hadn't talked to this girl yet. Almost before he had even finished the though, however, he wondered if Isra even knew about Dara. Gaffil wouldn't put it past Isra's Resistance to undermine her for some drug-addled, vengeance-driven motive. Which didn't work for _him_. He had invested—even risked—too much on his spy for her to be ruined by her own organization. Perhaps he should transfer Dara. He had enough inconvenient, irritating people in his unit. General Alon could deal with this one.

It came to Gaffil, unbidden—if Rafintair somehow managed to overcome his defences… Despite himself, Isra's letter had not escaped Gaffil's thoughts. And Isra's desperation…a glimpse of herself, for once, freely given and with no hidden agenda…had barely left his mind since he received her message.

What the Larifx was he supposed to do with that, when he triumphed once more over Rafintair's plots? And if, by some obscure chance, his work was to be undone—

Gaffil scowled and shook himself out of it. Never mind the image of Isra being discovered, and dealt with by his brother's most fanatical followers. Never mind, even, her in Rafintair's bed, trapped forever in the cowering, self-loathing persona Rafintair demanded. Never mind the waste, or his knowledge that Rafintair wouldn't need to figure Isra out to destroy her.

She had known what she was signing up for. She knew what part to play. There had been no tricks or arm-twisting—for either of them—or no more than they could resist.

He would put up with Dara, or he would get sick of her blatancy—turn her in, or transfer her. He would survive whatever Rafintair now had planned. And then he would return. Make sure Isra remembered that her only value to him was calculated, and that they were both smarter than some lafit cliché.

And at that moment, as if to mock Gaffil's steadied resolve, the observed couple began running.

Gaffil switched gears automatically. So much for taking them out one by one, he thought impassively. But at least he could dispense with the preliminaries.

"Now," he snapped.

His men knew what to do. Half went racing towards their battle. Gaffil and the surprise second wave stayed hidden with the small band of archers. He'd much rather study the results of toying with this group than brutishly crush Rafintair's enemy. In the end, all paths led to his brother's demise.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"She just acts so _strangely_ now," Clayra insisted when they reached the pond. "Even for Sanar."

Gantik sighed. "Why is that?" asked the dutiful husband. Because he had no insight into Sanar's behaviour. Because he _definitely_ hadn't noticed anything. He hadn't been watching—even if they both knew he had. To distract his wife's critical eye, Gantik held up the water pitcher. "Will this be enough, or should we fill up another?"

The suspicious eye turned to what he held. "One more," she said slowly. "Just in case.

"And it _is_ true," she said, catching up with her main complaint. "Did you know the Kavishka is in love with her? But apparently she _doesn't want him_—probably _because_ she has him." Clayra was in love with one of Sanar's rejects. She had a low opinion of her sister's love life. "In fact, it's like she's even _mad_ at him for liking her. As if she didn't fall all over the Kavishka when he was just a story character."

"Sanar isn't very forgiving," Gantik pointed out.

_That_ got him a glare. Clayra imagined what Sanar might not have forgiven Gantik for, and she doubted it was serious. Or, she considered, it must have been something stupid—like some remark he made, or like his marriage to Clayra, but with Gantik still pining for Sanar. "It's not like he meant to kill Father, I'm sure," she said. "Didn't he kill, like, a whole bunch of enemies, too?"

"Sanar was very close to your father, though." Once, when Gantik was still the closest thing Sanar had to a friend, he had seen her on the anniversary of her father's death. The image had knotted in his throat for days afterwards. "It's different for her, because she has that memory." He would have said more, but his gaze skittered to the side in distraction. Had he seen something move, out of the corner of his eye? And what?

"But he's the _Kavishka_," Clayra continued, oblivious. "Shouldn't we be doing…pretty much anything that makes him happy? Or something? And I'm sure Sanar is the _last_ person who would want things to go—"

Gantik cut her off with a quick squeeze to her arm. "Clayra, we need to get out of here," he told her in a low voice.

She frowned. "What? Why?"

"Hush," he hissed. Her voice seemed too loud from his suddenly wary point of view. "There's someone here." He raised an eyebrow, and tilted his head to their left, just beyond the river.

Clayra twirled around, let wisps of her blond hair fly around her. "Who? Braun? He's so creepy sometimes, never talking—"

The need to get out of there, Gantik finally decided, outweighed their need to escape without the Someone realizing they were alerted to the danger. Grabbing Clayra by the hand, he pulled her just off the angle of the camp. "I'm thinking more along the lines of bad guys, Clayra," he snapped. "Come _on_." As he had known it would, this exclamation immediately drew out one man, then another—and they were definitely wearing uniforms. Unfriendly ones. Gantik knew the exact moment Clayra recognized them, because she squeaked, and all the colour drained from her face.

Gantik had planned to run off to the side of the camp. Close enough to warn the others, but not enough to lead the strangers—not Holy Brothers, but just as bad—back to the camp. Clayra, unfortunately, did not pick up on this. Instead, she loosed her hand from his, and sprinted towards the camp. To his horror, he realized she was shouting first for Kyp to get the Sildar out, and then for Sanar to help her.

Just in case, the former executioner's son thought grimly, Gaffil's men _hadn't_ realized that they had found the Kavishka and his band.

Sanar wasn't hysterical like this, he lamented. True, she turned around and started whaling on everyone at the least provocation, but at least a man could _try_ to stop her. There was no stopping Clayra's panic.

There was nothing for it. Sanar would fulfill all of her painful-sounding promises if he let Clayra out of his sight now.

Adjusting his course appropriately, Gantik followed his wife. At least she was screaming loudly enough to give warning. The Kavishka might even have time to grab the Sildar.

Gaffil's men didn't waste any of their mobile arsenal on poor shots, but the Whilems' luck was running out as the soldiers gained on them. Gantik pushed for another burst of speed, and began to catch up with Clayra. She had panic on her side, but it made her sloppy.

Fifty more metres to the camp, and Gantik had caught up with Clayra.

Thirty-five, and the first arrow whistled past Gantik's ear.

Twenty, and the Kavishka had the Sildar clenched before him. "Clayra, Gantik, to your left," he ordered.

Thirteen. They had run left—to Sanar, it turned out, who was looking even more terrifying than usual as she wielded a violet energy blade. A lightsaber, he thought it might have been. "Who?" she demanded.

Ten. "Gaffil," Gantik half-gasped. He hoped the warning made her wary. Gaffil's men wouldn't underestimate her, wouldn't assume. She had to be careful, even if it was uncharacteristic of her.

Four metres. He watched as Sanar's face transformed, as she tightened her grip on the lightsaber, and strode forward. Something far worse than the Niftyax roared to life in her eyes. "Gaffil," she hissed.

She passed him, and for a moment Gantik remembered her as she had been, once—responding to one of Horaire's attacks. She had been a fury, a tempest, a second away from being unleashed on the surrounding lesser mortals. Gantik had retreated before he could see what he was seeing now.

But this time, she seemed to have a peculiar trigger:

"_Devnos_."

Kyp beat her to the fight, but Sanar leapt into the fray soon after him. Then there were more soldiers, and then Braun, Dejarik, Miko, and Krista.

And then the blood began to flow.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar stopped thinking clearly as soon as Gantik said "Gaffil's men." If there was even a chance that Gaffil Jir was with his men, she wanted his blood to spill at her feet. _Needed it_, even. It thrummed and hissed through her veins, far more calculative than she had been about Horaire's murder.

She could halt her thoughts, but not her memories.

("_There was nothing you could have done. Believe me: nothing. Gaffil—"_ "_Gaffil? What does that _warftha _have to do with this?"_

"_The snake and his brother were the ones who did this."_)

Years lost because of Gaffil. Years she could have kept her brother.

She remembered Devnos' death, come too soon for justice or forgiveness. A thousand times he had turned her away, until she knew better than to call on her brother for his mercy or aid.

The stories. The times he stood up for her when they were kids. And the day he came back, changed forever by Gaffil's chip.

Sanar's ability with a lightsaber was generally dubious. She had a little training, and could access some of Jaina's skill through their bond. But she was a survivor first, fighter second. The dark-haired woman was best with lashing out, injuring someone long enough to make her point or her escape. She had tasted only one man's blood—her worst enemy's—and it had ripped through even her hatred. Sanar was very good at hating, but still very new to seeing the life drain from a familiar being's eyes, right before her.

But she also preferred to act first, angst later. And Sanar was really, really ready to put off thinking until after she had committed her second murder.

At least, she noted, Kyp's lightsaber didn't really let anyone properly challenge her to a duel. She would probably lose her head in all of three seconds if anyone pulled out another lightsaber near her. Fortunately, she had grabbed Kyp's 'saber as soon as she understood Clayra's screaming. Two of Gaffil's men—neither stupid nor poorly trained—had rushed her straightaway. A trained swordswoman probably could have killed them both immediately. Sanar had awkwardly half-sliced open one man's shoulder, but had succeeded in taking off the left forearm of the other.

It wasn't a _horrible_ start, considering. And she didn't really care if Gaffil took a while—as long as he came. Her target was Gaffil's _painful_ death, after all. She could practice on his goons, first.

Sometimes, Gaffil came on his own missions, fought alongside his men. Sanar needed that to happen today.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista was pretty sure she had broken a nail. Of course, on the grand, saving-the-galaxy-one-evil-dictator-at-a-time scale—not a biggie. But still, she was pretty sure she had forgotten her nail clippers. And unlike some missions, she had a reason to want to look pretty.

—To set an example for her future wannabes, of course. Of course. Nothing to do with one Miko Reglia. Even with the way he had wormed into her heart.

Just as she was convincing herself—again—that she and Miko were just friends with…almost non-existent _benefits_, the guy in front of Krista took a swipe at her with his sword. Her head-in-clouds approach to fighting meant she didn't have the warning to avoid it completely. Instead of cleaving her in two, some quick work on her part had the blade glancing off her left arm. Blood wept from the wound, and the skin stung fiercely. Krista's mind came firmly back to reality.

"_Ow_," she snapped at her attacker. "That hurt!" In retaliation, she swung out with her dagger. The soldier blocked that, but he missed how she drew her blaster.

_Bang_, and he was down. She didn't like using her blaster in close contact fights—far too easy for things to go very wrong—but one of her few outfits now had a rip, and a future blood stain. It was worth the risk.

With her free moment, the blond woman ignored her wound—she was pretty sure it was shallow—in favour of her surroundings. Kyp and Sanar were in the thickest part of the fight, of course. Braun, too, had his hands full. Krista noted with some relief, however, that he did not seem to be gripped by his more suicidal tendencies. Dejah and Gantik were involved with their own battles, but sharing four soldiers between the two of them. Clayra, of course, was all but hiding. Krista had long ago come to the conclusion that one of the Klis sisters had been adopted.

Miko, at least, was on equal footing—he had already killed two incautious soldiers, and was battling with three more, who now knew their swords were useless against a lightsaber. What they expected to do against it now, however, was unclear. Maybe—

A shade later than the Force, she heard Dejah's warning. "Krista, behind you—"

Instinct overrode Krista's curiosity. In a movement quick enough to make to make a stranger's head spin, the blonde dropped to the ground and rolled away from a sword's fatal arc. The air whistled past her, and she almost expected her hair to be caught on the blade. Instead, it fell around her face, mercifully free. Her attacker grunted at his miss. She rolled away from the soldier, and came up in a defensible crouch a metre away from where she had started.

There were two of them, this time. The first man, already within striking range, was wiry and pale. His buddy, approaching fast, was a giant in comparison. Tall and bulky, his dark colouring was similarly opposite to the first man. She wondered if they fought well enough together to be that scary kind of complementing team.

They did.

Krista's connection to the Force was everything weak—unfocused, untrained, awkward and inconsistent. It was her own fault. She had never had the patience or motivation to pursue her training after her short and uninspired stint at the Academy. Which was really too bad, because Krista thought it would have come in handy for this fight.

Well, when there was nothing else to do… Krista didn't plan on dying with a broken nail.

With a last glance at Miko—_still fine, still alive, deal with everything else later_—Krista threw herself back into the fight.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The group was holding up better than he had expected—Gaffil would give them that much. He was particularly intrigued by the glowing weapons that one man and one woman used. When they died, he would have to recover both of the blades—one for study, and one for his own use. Possibly with his brother as a test subject.

"How much longer?" Dara asked. She hadn't moved from his side the entire mission. What did she think he was going to do—fall in lust with her if he stared at her overdone face long enough? Perhaps even fall in drunk love with her, and fill her in on his vast supply of secrets? If this kept up, he didn't doubt that Rafintair would "accidentally" find out about Dara's allegiance before she was a week returned to Quatroc.

"Start the archers' free fire on my mark," he answered after a moment. "The second wave is almost ready."

Dara nodded professionally, but topped it off with her usual look.

That just settled it. _Oh, see if you last two days back in Quatroc_, he thought disdainfully. Deciding to ignore her until opportunity presented itself, he fixed his eyes once more on the battle. As he watched, one of the men—the one with the strangely-coloured hair, red was it?—finally slew two of his shadows with a well-planned trap and two efficient swipes of his energy-sword. First the one, then the second of Gaffil's men fell in pieces. Horrid people, of course, with vices aplenty, but good fighters. Down for the count.

Gaffil thought he wouldn't mind seeing Rafintair suffer the same fate. Perhaps he would start with his brother's knees. But there wasn't a lot of blood in the red man's corner of the battle—and if that made the weapon any less painful, then Gaffil had no use for such a sword. Rafintair was going to feel _everything_ as he died. Every mistake, every time he ruined one of Gaffil's plans.

_Time to get this over with, then_, he reminded himself. Take out the "Kavishka," then return to do some real work on his half-brother. _Now_, he signed to Dara, and the archers raised their bows. Countdown, and—

One of the Kavishka's group cried out in pain as an arrow found a target. The girl had even been trying to _hide_. And this band was supposed to be Rafintair's dilemma?

_Easy_, Gaffil thought.

Another signal, another volley of arrows. This time, the group was aware of the archers' presence, and there were no cries. One of the women even used a soldier as a shield. How cute.

Confident of their overconfidence, Gaffil nodded at Dara. Immediately she raced to notify the second group of soldiers, situated on the opposite side of the clearing.

Time to get this battle going.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The Sildar sang as the blood flowed. Kyp was getting used to it, but could never help his shuddering response to the bloodthirsty chorus. Even now, mid-battle, it reminded him at least a little of Exar Kun. Perhaps that was the point.

But that song changed when Kyp had been expecting the battle to soon end. The chorus rose in anticipation, a pretty piece set to his quickening heartbeat. The arrows sent the melody ricocheting higher; the second volley—higher still.

_looklooklook_there

_There_. Kyp saw them, now, and turned back only to finish off the man he had been duelling. "They're attacking from the back," he yelled over the battle's din. Just in case, he emphasized the warning with the Force. Thankfully, the group seemed to catch the warning and prepare for a renewed assault.

Instinctively, Kyp flicked his eyes toward Sanar. He had consciously stayed near the brunette during her crash course in using a lightsaber on a group. She looked fierce enough to rip through any opponent, and would no doubt turn on _him_ if he offered her a weapon with which she was more familiar. He kept an eye on her anyway.

She swung wide at the soldier she fought. The man ducked the violet blade. Even as Kyp moved forward, he knew—the soldier would knock away the lightsaber, and come up with a dagger for Sanar's heart.

"Sanar, fall back," Kyp snapped. Without waiting for her compliance (or argument), he pushed himself between her and the soldier. A quick exchange of blows sufficiently defeated the other man, and on the appropriate weapon, even. The Sildar seemed rather pleased with itself.

He ignored it. "You alright?" he asked Sanar.

"I could have handled it," she told him. Her tone was surprisingly mild. For Sanar, anyway. She wasn't yelling.

"Well," he shrugged. "You know the Sildar. Has to hog the final kill on everything."

Something dark flickered across Sanar's face. "As long as it shares when it matters."

He nodded toward the increased mêlée to their east. They should rejoin the fight immediately, while they had some element of surprise. "Like when?" he queried.

Sanar started to jog ahead, but glanced back quickly to reply. "If he shows up, I'll let you know."

Before he could question her further, Sanar jerked forward. She had only just missed an arrow intended for her neck. She mouthed a curse, then jerked again. This time, however, neither of them could completely stop the arrow from doing damage.

Sanar's jaw clenched, stubbornly imprisoning a silent cry of pain, as she stumbled and dropped the lightsaber. Kyp's heart tripped right along with her. It was only when she straightened out again, the arrow caught in her left shoulder—_not fatal, thank the Force_—that he recovered himself.

Summoning his lightsaber to his hand, Kyp deactivated it and clipped it to his belt. Finding his once-apprentice's red hair the chaos, he shouted, "Miko, the archers!" Returning his attention to Sanar, he caught her before the pain took her under again. "We've got to get you out of here," he said, already searching for a decent hiding spot.

She had to presence of mind to pull out of his arms. "Like hell," she retorted. She grimaced—and without further warning snatched at the arrow. It was almost out before she swooned at the pain.

"Yeah, or you could do something stupid like that," he muttered irritably.

One of the soldiers caught sight of them, and thought to take advantage of the situation. Momentarily distracted—and in no mood to be so—Kyp let Sanar slide to the ground. He reactivated his lightsaber and used both it and the Sildar on the man incautious enough to attack [i]_now_[/i] of all times. Although not dead, the man soon fell to the ground incapacitated. The Sildar's poison would take care of the rest.

When he could refocus on what was important, Sanar was once again trying to pull at the arrow. "By the Force," Kyp grumbled. Grabbing her questing hand, he gave her a stern look. Judging by her dazed, disgruntled expression, the glare had little-to-no effect on its recipient. He was out of practice. Or Sanar was just ridiculously stubborn, and had problems with rational authority. Either one. He attempted to reason with her anyway. "Hold off on this kind of stupid until you're around a blood bank."

Predictably enough, she resisted when he tried to pull her to the safer woods. "Lemme _go_, Kyp, I'm _fine_, I just want to fight—"

"Not with that shoulder," he reminded her grimly.

"I wanna fight," she repeated, grousing. "Gaffil might be here—"

The Sildar, which had been so quiet, let a giddy shriek ring through his mind. It wasn't entirely reassuring. Trying to ignore it, he tugged Sanar behind a row of bushes. Even as she struggled, he sat her down against a nearby tree. "If you want to fight at _all_ on the rest of this trip, you're staying out of this one," he ordered. She opened her mouth to argue, and he cut her off. "Don't make me knock you out."

"You wouldn't," she said scornfully. Her words were stumbling towards a slur.

"Don't bet on it," he snapped.

"Patronizing _kryntath_," she sneered, but stopped fighting him.

He glanced over his shoulder at the fight. The Sildar—subdued, save for its lone shriek, while he had ensured Sanar's safety—restarted its demands for a fight. "Stay here," he told Sanar. "And leave that arrow alone, or you'll make it worse." He began to rise, then crouched back down beside her. "Here," he said, placing his lightsaber back in her right hand. "If someone comes back here—_only_ if they find you—then use it to defend yourself. Call for me if you have _any_ trouble, and be nice to your shoulder. You got me?"

She gave him a narrow-eyed glare. "_Yes_, Durron." Abruptly, she giggled. "Kyp. Durron. _Kyp_."

Kyp rolled his eyes. "I'll be back as soon as I can." She snorted. "Try to stay half-sane until then?"

He didn't think she'd remember it, so he took a chance. Leaning forward, he kissed her forehead gently. _Stay safe_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"_Sanar? Beloved?"_

_Her head lolled to the side to look at him. "Kyp." She frowned. "You went that way." She tried to point, but it was her left arm and didn't_ that _hurt like a son-of-a-sith._

"_I'm the Kavishka," he corrected her with a frown._

"_Ky—Durron," she insisted. Then she started to remember why she wasn't happy with her dream lover. He was lucky she hurt too much to yell at him. "But I saw you. You're fighting Gaffil's men." And when she looked to the side, she could see Kyp's shadow sparring with two soldiers. "How are you…here?"_

_He smiled at her in his usual way. She thought, strangely, that his smile did not much remind her of Kyp Durron. No wonder she hadn't recognized him. She thought that if she identified an in-love Durron any one way, it should have been by his grin. It wasn't the first time she had been confronted by her wrong assumptions._

"_I don't really want to deal with you right now," she told him after a pause. "And if you keep splitting your consciousness during a fight, I'll have to smack you."_

"_He saved your life just now."_

"_What?" Then, realizing he spoke in the third person, Sanar glowered. "Fine, yes, you did. Thanks-ever-so. I'll send you a fruit basket if you get yourself killed because you were fighting, and talking to me at the same time."_

_He didn't really seem to be paying attention to her. "I had very little to do with it, really," he admitted carelessly. "I didn't notice in time. Kyp did. We're both very lucky that he _can _do two things at once."_

"_Huh?" Clearly, she had lost a lot of blood. Clearly, she was hallucinating a Prophecy and Vengeance Approved hallucination. And doing a bad job of it, too, if she couldn't follow her own mind's creation._

"_I'm afraid once the Sildar and I get distracted…" He smiled grimly._

_This smile wasn't Kyp's cynical a-sarcastic-remark-is-on-the-tip-of-my-tongue smirk, either. And she_ knew _that, so why wasn't hallucinated Kyp reverting to his proper characterization? And why did it even matter, anyway?_

"_It's not for lack of loving you, dearest," he continued. While she stared at him, confused, he brushed her cheek with his knuckles. "You are second only—and barely—to Vengeance. But she demands my allegiance. You must understand."_

_She really didn't. "Of course."_

_He kissed her sweetly. It was as perfect—as lovely and gentle, as undemanding and unthreatening—as ever before._

_Perfect. Like the Kavishka. Not like Kyp Durron._

"_Dearest," he whispered. "Stay safe, for my sake. You know, now, why we need you."_

_And then he was gone again_.

The Sildar continued its song.


	102. Ch34: Gaffil Jir

Chapter Thirty-Four: Gaffil Jir

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista's neck pricked irritably, but she shouldered on. Her arms ached, sweat dripped in her eyes, and more than one (relatively minor) wound was bleeding. The worrying tingle could just as easily be her imagination as the Force. Since the second wave of soldiers, Krista had sternly mastered her concentration. Miko was a big boy who had a lightsaber, and he could certainly keep himself alive for a few minutes. And Krista _didn't_ have a cut-through-anything lightsaber, or duelling training—she was _Intel_, for stars' sake.

Miko could yell if he needed help. Krista needed to _focus_—

"Krista!" Dejah's voice cut through her concentration.

The blonde ducked her opponent's vicious knife arc. She had managed to take out the thinner man, but that left the comparable giant. As quickly as she could, Krista tried for her own knife jab, but at a place significantly more sensitive than the soldier's target had been. He dodged—barely. Instead, her knife sank into his thigh muscles.

"I'm kinda busy, Dejah," Krista shouted. When her name was shouted once more, she sighed. A series of punches, finished off with a well-placed kick, finally made the giant groan in a manner similar to a dying animal. "Gimme a sec!"

Apparently, she didn't have a "sec," because Dejah's voice became a touch more frantic. "I'll be right there!" she promised someone.

The hairs on Krista's neck fairly crawled when she stopped ignoring them. _MikoMikowhereisMiko?_ She faltered a second—forced herself not to turn and look—_you can't do anything if you're dead_.

Krista's attack turned vicious. She slipped past Giant's swinging arm, then slid close enough to smash her elbow into his throat twice. Before he could react even to that, her knee shot into his thigh wound. He fell to his knees in pain. Krista couldn't blame him; it was a natural reaction. But it _was_ rather stupid—he was the perfect height for her to get her hands around his beefy neck. _Twist_, and _snap_, and the fight was finished with perhaps some of the dirtiest tactics Krista had ever used.

She didn't think about the giant, though—_Miko_, she thought frantically. Where had she last seen him?

It took a second. But Kyp had yelled something earlier—for Miko to take out the archers. Eventually, Krista remembered and set off in the right direction. "Miko!" she yelled. "I'm coming!"

The archers had set themselves up to the west, behind the cover of trees and one of the terrains' rolling hills. She didn't have time to fight her way through the mass of fighting. Instead, Krista cut a path through them, pausing only long enough to knick an enemy here and there as distraction.

When she finally arrived, however, she stumbled to a stop. She had been expecting to dodge arrows and shoot her technologically advanced equivalent. Instead, Krista found Miko duelling with two men. Miko's lightsaber had been replaced with a sword. And he was losing.

This was actually worse than the broken nail.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Miko had taken care of the easy part while he had the element of surprise. Five archers down before a man knocked Miko's lightsaber out of his hand. But before he could summon it back, the same man had thrown it into the nearby oasis. As a general rule, lightsabers…did not like water.

One of the men Miko killed had a sword, which Miko now used. He could adjust to the extra weight—mostly. He had even taken down two of the four remaining men. It still created a handicap in a fight where every flaw was held against him.

Then it got ugly. Because those last two men were the difficult ones. The lighter-haired one had to be almost Miko's equal with a sword. The other one, though, the dark-haired man—Miko knew a master duellist when he saw one. And this one could beat Miko down even without his extra goon. It was only a matter of time.

Miko had been duelling for years, and most of that had been learned at war. He had fought more beings than he could remember, and most of those fights had involved at least one death.

This fight, he finally admitted, would probably be his last. With a curious calm, he could see it. Finally a split second too slow in a slightly too-complex series of moves, and then—the Force. And hopefully peace.

Peace. Put that way, death sounded like it should be desirable. A Jedi was supposed to accept it as a transition, as the Force. But he still had so much he wanted to live through.

And—Krista.

Miko faltered, and very nearly lost his head for it. He tightened his grip at the last second, pushed back and then kicked out at the other man before he could come at Miko with the dagger.

Krista, blue eyes, blond hair—the real kind, with gold and red and pale highlights, not at all manufactured, for all she pretended. Bright smile, but eyes with depth and mischief. Krista, who he thought might actually—finally—see him as more than just a friend. Krista, who kept up a wall between others and herself for this very reason. What would his death do to her?

As if summoned by his thoughts, a flash of blond hair caught his eye as it came over the hill.

_No_.

"Krista, get out of here," he called as he dug to find his reserve energy. Krista would have some blasters, a dagger or two, maybe some other close combat weapons. But no sword—not that she was trained to use one properly, anyway. And if he died while she was nearby, Krista would be next.

"Just pass one off to me," she insisted, hovering at the edge of the fight. At least she realized that both of them would die if she simply cut in.

Dark Hair smirked, and brought his foot down into Miko's knee. Miko just managed to take it, but ended up falling back anyway. He twisted to avoid Light Hair's sword, then scissor-kicked Dark Hair's sword hand. The man cursed, and drew a dagger even as he regained his grip. But Miko was back on his feet by then.

"Get Kyp," he told Krista, not even daring to look at her. He couldn't be distracted for this fight, when he had already been on his back once. He had been lucky, nothing more.

He could feel Krista hesitate, then say, "Just back up, or stay still for a second, and I can—"

"_Krista_!" Frustration roughened his tone.

"Leave it to me," he heard another woman murmur. Dejah? He tuned out the rest of the conversation.

He continued to fight, completely focused, couldn't even check if Krista had left. Then suddenly he was only fighting Dark Hair. Dejah had cut into the fight with surprising sensitivity to the situation, and pulled the second man away from Miko. His lone opponent immediately stepped up the speed of his already lightning-quick strikes.

Still, Miko told himself, it was one less opponent. Now if Krista would just listen—

But he couldn't think about Krista anymore—and not anything else, for that matter. Submerging his entire self in the Force, Miko fought for his life.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Teigra had once remarked that duelling was rather like dancing. Dejah supposed she could buy that, though she found the footwork of a fight far easier to remember. She had the fighter's instinct, after all. It was all a matter of finding the rhythm.

The man she fought was her equal, and perhaps just slightly better. It was a little easier once she had forced him away from Miko—less conscious strategy, and more flexibility. At the first opportunity, she checked to see where Krista had gone. Dejah only just caught sight of blond hair as it disappeared over the hill.

_Good girl_, Dejah thought, when she realized that she hadn't needed to elaborate on the plan. Krista must have run for the Kavishka; Dejah could hardly see her leaving Miko otherwise. Now if the strange girl would just realize that she would have to stay there and help Gantik and Braun. Dejah didn't mind leaving the main fight for this one—it _was_ Gaffil Jir, after all—but the sooner this battle ended, the better.

She hoped Miko could hold off Gaffil for a little while longer. Dejah _knew_ she wouldn't last more than a few minutes, especially if she had to fight her current opponent as well. She was better trained, and more experienced, than most MR fighters, but there was only so many minor strikes that could be carried out against Pucijir's Order. Most of the women more experienced than her were also dead.

To be honest, part of her had expected to find a MR operative—Isra, perhaps—as a source of aid in this conflict. For good or ill, Geneva wasn't known for under-exploiting an opportunity. This lack was uncharacteristic of the MR leader.

It wasn't important, though, Dejah reminded herself with a shake of her head. Not even if some stupid, fresh operative was merely playing her own selfish game. Gaffil had to die, and Dejah hoped—prayed, though Mujir probably wasn't there—that today was his day.

Dejah had to prepare herself, though, protect herself from the inevitable disappointment. If Gaffil survived this, after all, then Kyp Durron was no promised hero.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kyp was ready when Krista came sprinting over the hill. The Force hummed as an undercurrent, but it was the Sildar that burned in his blood. The part of him that had almost nothing to do with Kyp Durron, and everything with the Kavishka, had taken over.

_wherewherewhere_there

He signalled to Gantik and Braun to finish off the remaining soldiers. "Where are they?" he demanded as soon as Krista was close.

"Over the hill," she answered, pointing. "Miko's trying to hold them off, but he's los—"

Kyp Durron might have spared the visibly upset girl a reassuring word or gesture. The Kavishka only raced toward Gaffil Jir. "Stay and help down here!" he yelled over his shoulder.

He could hear them now. Miko grunting and fighting through weariness and pain. Dejah trying to keep track of her fight as well as Miko's. He could hear Death hovering over them all—just waiting.

_I wouldn't want to disappoint_, he thought, almost amused.

Then at last he had arrived; he (_the Kavishka, the Sildar, Vengeance_) knew Gaffil immediately. His blood stilled and then—

_Voices, so many voices, do this / watch out for when / he's a sly one / just do what we say / just don't let him leave without Vengeance_

"Gaffil Jir."

Gaffil ignored the Kavishka in favour of beating down on Miko. Krista was right about that part: Miko was definitely losing. In fact, he was two seconds away from defeat. Covered in lacerations, he wasn't going down without a fight, but most men (maybe the ones who didn't love girls with abandonment issues) would have given in already.

Gaffil's sword came up. Miko raised his own sword in a last, weak defence. Gaffil's sword dove down and—

"I'm afraid that'll have to wait."

Gaffil wasn't expecting the resounding counter-blow to his sword's descent. The Sildar's power sent the man back a stumbling step. He glanced down at Miko, as if the broken red-haired man might have somehow managed to rise up again. Having regained himself, Gaffil finally turned to his real opponent. He smirked, eyes gleaming. "The _Kavishka_, I presume?" He kicked the slowly rising Miko back to the ground. "I hope you're worth the trip."

The Kavishka returned his smirk, but refrained from responding with words. Instead, the Sildar whirled in his hands and Gaffil had to return fully to the duel. The swords clashed in a stalemate, neither giving an inch. Gaffil Jir was not one of his soldiers, easily pushed aside. Another blow, more successfully deflected this time and—_twist and recover now_—a dagger darted in too close to Kyp's shoulder for comfort. Gaffil, in his eagerness to wound his opponent early, almost missed the way the Kavishka recovered. Kyp's elbow was a breath away from Gaffil's nose when the other man backed out of reach.

They circled each other, both aware of the challenge they faced. Kyp was the first to shake off the pressure. His feral grin was soon echoed by Gaffil.

_hard hard fastandhard / don't fall for his tricks_

In response to the Sildar's voices, Kyp charged forward, pushing Gaffil toward and over the hill in a surge of power. Gaffil fought it at first, but fancy footwork soon had him spun around, with Kyp at the disadvantage of backing down a hill.

Gaffil kicked out. The Sildar hissed a warning—but Kyp misjudged the target, and moved to the side only to flinch when Gaffil's foot cut into his knee.

_plays dirty lafit watch him_

Right. Dirty. Kyp wouldn't make the same mistake twice. If Gaffil wanted to play dirty, they'd play dirty.

He had to forcibly quiet the Sildar for a moment. It was almost impossible to both access the Force, and act as a conduit for Vengeance. But there it was, Light (or something like it) against the Sildar's voices. He didn't have time to revel in it. Even as he drew Gaffil down to leveller ground, Kyp scanned his surroundings.

_There_. Splitting his attention was dangerous, but Kyp Durron was not known for playing it safe. He pressed his attack furiously, and was rewarded by Gaffil's slight falter. Acting quickly, Kyp summoned a fist of sand to fly up in Gaffil's face.

Gaffil stumbled just a little, then decided to use his disorientation to his benefit. Before Kyp could make contact, Gaffil dropped to the ground, and kicked Kyp's legs out from under him. They both tumbled the rest of the way down the hill. Gaffil rose first, but Kyp used his Gaffil's own move against him. Gaffil fell, and both were back on their feet at the same time. Swords crossed in a flurry of attacks and defensive measures. Kyp would give Gaffil this much—he was not predictable.

Not to Kyp, at least. But the Sildar—representing millions of victims of Pucijir's Order—offered information from battles they had fought with Gaffil Jir.

_don't look for a weak side doesn't have one / he'll see that move you're telegraphing that move / watch see he'll—this is how he killed us / don't follow it tricktricktrick / sand now now now_

Kyp thought it was possible that Gaffil was the better fighter. Possible. With swords and only moderate Force access. But Prophecy was not meant to end a few days' travel from Quatroc, to be killed at the hands of Rafintair's ambitious and passed over brother. The Kavishka would find victory even if Kyp Durron could not.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Larifx. Larifx, larifx, larifx-and-lafit-all-to-the-depths-of-hell_. Geneva hadn't said _anything_ about an attack on Gaffil—and she would have definitely lectured Dara about when to do _this_ and _that_ and how she'd _better not to lafit it up or there'd be hell to pay_. But if it wasn't Geneva, then who—? Dara brushed the thought aside with a petulant scowl. It didn't matter who. If Gaffil got killed, Rafintair would have the Holy Brothers on her before she could figure out who could protect her. And she didn't feel like just indiscriminately lafiting fat old men who had power—not just because some nobodies managed to kill the emperor's brother. She had _some_ standards.

She couldn't kill them—too many of 'em, and Geneva'd kill her for protecting Gaffil and taking out "allies." _Larifx_. This was all too much trouble, considering how she'd only signed up for the more comfortable lifestyle. Maybe it would be more worth it once she was under Gaffil's skin. Once she rooted Isra out properly, and had Gaffil in her bed. Of course, to gain the prince's jewels and undoubtedly satin sheets, she couldn't just let him die here. Isra would steal everything before Dara even got back to Quatroc.

And it was important for his information, too, of course. That would be the only part she told Geneva. But how to get from point A to point alive-jewels-and-satin-sheets?

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Gaffil liked competent opponents. He hadn't had many of them, and he had run out of _those_ years ago. Isra wasn't really an opponent; and Rafintair could not be defeated in just one fight.

This man, though—Gaffil grinned at the Kavishka as he feinted to the left, then the right, then kicked out for a just barely unsuccessful trip. The Resistance had chosen their makeshift mythic hero well. It was a pity, really. Gaffil had let some of Rafintair's enemies go—once he had a handle on them, they could be very useful—but this one had to die. Rafintair had paid too much attention to the myth to miss the man.

If Gaffil hadn't already claimed his brother's blood, he would have laid money on the Kavishka's triumph over Rafintair. It wouldn't have been a sure thing, of course, but wouldn't that have been a fight to see.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The battle now seemed superfluous, and Gantik wasn't sure if he fought because it was necessary, or because it gave him something to do. Clayra would survive her arrow wound, and she had found a more successful hiding place since the sniper's shot went through her hand.

Braun and Krista's fights were also calming down. Krista had found her second wind to finish off her last two opponents. Gantik guessed, however, that her mind was more on Miko's fight than her own. She was too careful to maintain her concentration. Even as he glanced over at her, the blond girl cut down a well-beaten soldier with painstaking care. As her reward, she stole a glance at the hill. Braun, close enough to catch sight of this, spun around and threw some kind of dart at her final foe's throat.

Krista looked up, startled by the gurgling sound. Her daggers slashed across the man's neck; he fell without so much as a whimper. She stepped toward Braun. "Do you need—"

"Go check on Miko," Braun interrupted her. "Gantik and I can handle the rest."

She didn't need to be told twice. Krista raced off with more energy than Gantik had felt since the first five minutes of the fight. She didn't even glance at Kyp and Gaffil's rather epic-looking battle, several metres away. Gantik very consciously did not make any crude remarks—out loud or otherwise—about where Krista's head really was.

Braun's enemy fell—not yet dead, but as good as—and then he and Gantik finished off the last one. Just in time, too, Gantik thought. Exhausted, he fell to the ground not long after the soldier. "This was definitely Clayra's idea," he muttered tiredly. His wife rarely ever put her foot down, but she could make life hellish when she wanted to. She had gotten that much—though perhaps nothing else—from her sister. And of course she had wanted to come on this suicide mission. Gantik's life would have been too easy, otherwise.

"Gantik?" Speak of the—wife. "Are you alright?"

_Do not snap at her_, Gantik reminded himself. _Do not make a sarcastic, border-line cruel comment. This is the Klis girl who loves you. And Sanar will murder you if you treat Clayra the way you would her sister_. "Get out the bandages, Clayra," he said out loud. "For your hand." He glanced at the man nearby. "How are you, Braun?"

Braun gave Gantik a cold look. "Concern yourself with your wife's wounds." He paused, then grudgingly added, "And your own. Your stomach is bleeding particularly badly.

Gantik nodded uneasily. Braun disturbed him at times. A more insightful—or at least more sympathetic—man might have made the connection between this fight and the last, in which Braun's wife had died. Gantik was neither of these things.

"Clayra?" he called. She turned back quickly, almost obediently. He was very grateful that Sanar wasn't nearby to see it. "Bring out all the medical supplies."

She must have acquiesced—she always did—but Gantik had already turned away from her to observe the continuing fight. "I didn't expect them to be so well matched," he told Braun.

The other man's grim stare did not move from the fight. None of them could even think of joining in; any attempt would probably get all three participants killed. "It would be more reassuring if Kyp had instantly killed Gaffil."

"No," Gantik said, shaking his head. "I didn't expect him to last this long, actually. I haven't seen Gaffil beaten in a fight since he was a boy—and even then he would usually cook up some kind of prank or trick as a last 'word.' He never fought Rafintair that I knew of. It wouldn't have served either of their motives."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kyp had become lost somewhere in the Sildar's song, in Vengeance's dance. Every blow—to his opponent or to himself—was only a blur now, and it would have been so even if they came, went, clashed, shattered at a mortal speed. This, he had thought earlier in the fight—this was why so many believed the Jirs were unbeatable, protected by a warrior god. If this was Gaffil Jir, Kyp could only imagine his fight with Rafintair. The Kavishka's every strike was blocked, dodged, turned against him, and blocked again.

Gaffil's blows did not make the Kavishka's strength crumble—he was no match in power—but for intelligence, for sheer demonic cunning in the face of a fight—

The result of a fight between power and cunning was always interesting. Kyp alone might have lost this battle, might have been defeated at last on a strange planet on a mission that smacked of suicide.

Kyp Durron had been lost to the Sildar's song, to Vengeance's dance, to the Kavishka.

All the Kavishka needed was an opportunity.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Dara was running out of time. As unbelievable as it was, Gaffil might actually lose this fight. But even if (_when_, Dara planned to live) he beat his current opponent, he would have to fight the rest of them. And with no one else alive to help him, Gaffil would definitely know that Dara hadn't fought—which would mean no jewellery and no satin sheets.

She was seriously considering just throwing one of the grenades and hoping for the best (they were still very new, and very unstable), when movement caught her eye. Dara moved further into the bushes to get a better look.

It was a woman—she looked vaguely familiar, and Dara assumed that she was a part of the so-called Kavishka's group. She was injured, though—a rather painful-looking arrow wound in her shoulder. And while she wasn't unconscious, she didn't look particularly coherent.

It occurred to Dara that the woman looked rather like satin sheets.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The Sildar roared. _At last, at last_—

It was only a small opening, but the product of an exhausting round of careful strategy and heavy blows. This was the start—he could almost taste Gaffil's defeat.

His eyes glued to the target, Kyp swung the Sildar. The blow glanced across Gaffil's side. Just as quickly, Gaffil spun away and out of reach. He had flinched at the initial burn, but stifled any further response in favour of a snarl—of anger, not true pain.

_give it time kryntath_

Kyp's lips stretched into sometime like a smile. Finally, finally.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

This was officially too easy. Gantik had seen Gaffil fight before, and he knew how easily his half-cousin managed to win. Gaffil was, and always had been, protected by something—perhaps a lesser known trickster god. If Kyp Durron had managed to hold out this long, it would soon change for the disastrous.

Just as he formed the thought, a strange woman dragged Sanar out of the woods. This, unfortunately, was all too Gaffil—his style, his luck (of all the possible captives—a wounded Sanar? the woman Kavishka loved?), his backdoor.

It was never easy.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kyp only needed a few more minutes to perfect his plan. He was almost certain he had Gaffil. As soon as he—

And then he did, Gaffil heralded his own downfall with a move too complex for his own good. It brought him too close, and before Gaffil could blink he was sprawled—finally, _sprawled_, he wouldn't recover quickly enough—and the Sildar raised for the final blow and—

"If you want her to live, you'll let him go."

The meaning's chill, more than the words, stayed his blow. The Kavishka recoiled, and the Sildar's voices were silenced in terror. Kyp, himself, very nearly staggered. As he pushed forward, however, he realized what the Kavishka had not noticed in time.

Sanar. Kyp didn't have to look away from Gaffil to grasp the situation. One of Gaffil's people had Sanar—who _felt_ worse than he had left her—and no one was close enough to fix that. Several metres away, he could sense Gantik and Braun's fear. They knew how bad this could get.

They couldn't let Gaffil go. He _needed_ to pay for his crimes. Further, his death would be a serious to blow to Rafintair's power, who apparently depended far more on Gaffil than the emperor would admit.

But Kyp could not let Sanar die. Never mind Prophecy, or how many times and ways Jaina would kill him if anything happened to her sister, or even the group's symbolic number. Kyp Durron could not let anything happen to Sanar Klis.

He wondered if she would ever understand that.

Kyp looked at Gaffil. The other man's expression was a mix between amused and disgusted. But Kyp was satisfied with the blood that slowly seeped from Gaffil's side. "What do you want, then?" he asked the stranger holding Sanar.

"Step away from Gaffil, and we go," the woman ordered. Her Basic was relatively solid, but still imperfect. "I let her go at top of hill. You not follow."

Kyp laughed humourlessly. "I'm supposed to trust you on that?"

She paused, as if taking the time to mentally translate his words.

Gaffil spoke. "I can leave and return with a dozen more soldiers, but the nearest outpost is several hours' travel. You'll know before then if the girl has been killed."

Kyp pinned Gaffil with a glare. "And what's to stop me from killing you, then?"

Gaffil smirked, and looked pointedly at Sanar. Kyp followed his gaze. "She needs medical attention—Dara isn't known for her subtlety."

"It only takes one to care for her."

"And who will that be?" Gaffil's smirk grew. "Your crew must be exhausted, and some wounded. And do you really expect me to believe that you will leave her to such a group?"

Sanar looked only barely conscious, and very woozy. He thought he could see blood (he told himself that it _could_ be his imagination). Besides that, however, Dara stayed too far away. Kyp couldn't judge what kind of wounds Sanar's condition implied—for all he knew, Dara had merely knocked her over the head. But Gaffil was right; Kyp wouldn't take that chance.

Certainly, not when he knew the fate that awaited Gaffil.

"I'll know if you hurt her," Kyp told Gaffil. "We both know you almost lost this round."

"You either die or you don't, Kavishka," Gaffil replied glibly as he stood. "But I am not my brother," he added dismissively. "I would rather survive you than protect my pride."

Braun wasn't happy. "Kyp, you can't—"

"You of all people should know why I will," Kyp replied sharply without looking at him.

Gaffil snorted, and touched his side with a rueful look. "You won't manage this twice. I know you now."

Kyp believed him. It just didn't matter anymore. But he only said, "We'll see, won't we?"

The other man smirked. "We will." He signalled for Dara to follow him up the hill. She sneered at Kyp and tightened her grip on Sanar, who might have moaned softly (or maybe Kyp's protective side was making him paranoid), but she obeyed. She waited until the last moment to push Sanar down the hill.

Kyp caught Sanar before she hit the bottom of the end of the slope, and he immediately set to work on healing her. Vengeance did not demand he follow the Sildar's enemy.

Gaffil was already a dead man. He just didn't know it yet.


	103. Ch35: Dead Man Walking

**Chapter Thirty-Five: Dead Man Walking**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Miko. And blood.

At first, that was all Krista could see. All she could feel, clawing at her heart, strangling the air out of her lungs. All she could think. Scream, though she couldn't say a word.

Miko. And blood.

Krista forced herself to breathe past it.

Miko. And blood. But she could see now that he was still alive—his chest was moving, even if it was bloody—just not ready to get back up yet. Still alive, though. Kyp had stopped Gaffil before he could kill Miko.

Dejah was still fighting, Krista saw when she had pushed past the almost-loss. The woman was tiring, though. Krista wasn't much help in a sword fight, and she hadn't even started the training 'saber part of her Jedi instruction. But she had to be able to help by now, when both participants looked exhausted.

She didn't let herself go to Miko yet. She could feel him—strong and _alive_, hurt but not in serious danger—in that place where she felt the Force. Things would get worse if Dejah lost. Krista had to prioritize.

A few moments passed, then Krista spied her opportunity. She caught Dejah's eye, signalled her intent, then charged. Her twin daggers made defence difficult, but her darting attacks quickly worsened the soldier's condition. A slash across his sword arm—he didn't like that—and Dejah punched him in the face. He recovered, and kicked Dejah's feet out from under her.

While Dejah's sword was out of the picture, Krista's role momentarily became more precarious. Dejah rose slowly, tired and no doubt injured. The next time Dejah's sword made their opponent open a vulnerable side, Krista took a chance. She sheathed both daggers, and drew her blaster. She knocked aside his protective arm with a hard elbow jab. Before he could stop her, Krista pressed her blaster up against his chest. She shot twice, as quickly as her sore muscles would allow her.

The first shot hit him, and probably came near a lung, but at the very least some essential organs. The second blaster bolt, however, was skewed—the man having shuddered and pushed Krista back. She stumbled and fell backwards. Her head thumped against the ground. She lay stunned for a moment—

_her vision blurred, and there were_ _**so many people, dying and dead and killing, and she hurthurthurt, and**_ **Miko**_**, oh Force, no**_

—before she could recover. _Ow_. She had jarred her funny bone on the way down, and it tingled as she reached once more for her blaster. Krista didn't want to think about the stars she saw. _Ow, stangit_. But even as her arm was straightening out for a third shot, Dejah had risen behind the man. She slit his throat, and Krista shuddered as blood sprayed. Both women stared at him as he fell, and then, for a moment more, at each other.

Krista gulped for air when, seconds later, the fight caught up with her. Her injured arm, shallowly wounded but considerably battered, gave and she fell back to the ground. Her head ached; her mind was dazed.

And two of her nails were definitely broken. Raggedly, even. Ew.

She breathed deeply, then rolled into a sitting position. _Miko_. Her elbows stung, and her funny bone still tingled. She tried not to move her arms as she stood and walked toward her best friend.

Krista frowned when she saw that Dejah had beaten her to Miko's side. Not that it meant anything—Miko needed medical attention. And as far as present enemies went, there was only that guy Kyp fought—Gaffil, or something?—who remained alive. But Dejah's concern for Miko stirred a strange sensation in Krista's gut. _I thought she didn't like guys_, the blonde groused silently. Trying to stifle her response, Krista knelt next to Miko. She might have semi-purposely knocked Dejah's hands away from Miko's face. But she doubted Miko would really appreciate a stranger touching him anyway. Even if the stranger in question was an exotic woman with pretty features. Dejah had _baggage_.

Krista gently turned his face toward her. "Miko?" she said. "Miko, look at me."

He groaned, but opened his eyes. "Kris," he muttered.

She was a little too pleased that Dejah, kneeling next to her, received no such semi-conscious-but-yep-he-still-knew-her acknowledgement. "What hurts?" she asked.

He gave a short, thready kind of laugh. "What doesn't?"

"A little more specific, please?" Dejah asked, no-nonsense.

Miko glanced at her. "Uh…" His eyes looked a little dazed. His hand found Krista's, and he gave it a quick squeeze. "My eyes. You're too pretty, Kris." He grinned at her, completely transparent.

She stared at him for a moment, then laughed. "You're obviously going to be fine," she muttered, blushing deeply.

"You know me," he agreed. "Hard head." He sighed, and closed his eyes. "I think I'll just rest a few minutes, though. Don't want to get up just yet."

She nodded quickly, and told herself there were no tears—not even tears of relief—in her eyes. It would totally ruin what remained of her make-up. "That's okay. I'll be right here."

Not too bad, for a fight that broke her nails.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

In Quatroc, Rafintair smiled.

Today.

Today Gaffil would pay for his sins. Rarely did Pucijir pave the way so that everything came together so well. Yet Rafintair never failed to appreciate Pucijir's rewards.

It was a good day.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Please tell me you did not _actually_ let Gaffil go." Sanar scowled at him as he tried to bandage her wounds. "Durron? You aren't that stupid."

Kyp sighed impatiently. "I've already explained it twice," he told her. "The Sildar is in his blood now. He might not even make it to his new troops without being carried there. Now, would you just hold still?" This had been so much easier while she was unconscious, he mused with only a hint of remorse. It hadn't taken her long to come completely back to herself once Dara released her; Kyp had barely even brought her into the shade before she had stirred. Around them, other members of their travelling group were dealing with the aftermath, but Kyp and Sanar ignored them in favour of their argument.

She hissed as he tightened the bandage around her upper arm. "Are you _trying_ to cut off my circulation? Larifx. I can't believe you—"

"So you've said," he interrupted. Usually he was all too happy to spar with Sanar, but she was a downright nightmare while injured. Since she had returned to full, coherent consciousness, she hadn't stopped badgering him about Gaffil, never mind her wounds. "Think about it, Sanar, about what the Sildar will do to him over the next month. He's as good as dead."

"He deserves worse."

Kyp shook his head. "And you think either of us could have made it so better than Vengeance? What did he, specifically, do to you anyway?"

She gave him a flat look. "You remember my brother, Devnos."

"Yes." She really was impossible when hurt.

"You remember the behavioural modification chip found in his head."

"Yes…"

"Gaffil is responsible for it."

"I see." Kyp nodded. "Well, this way the Sildar can stretch it all out for a few weeks while you help with our current problems. Rafintair, for example."

"Gaffil was _mine_," she snapped. "My revenge. And thanks to you, I didn't even get a chance to—"

"To what? Go Dark side?" _Impossible, impossible woman_. It occurred to him that the Sildar's voices had left him considerably irritated. His typically short fuse was just waiting for any chance to blow. "I've been there, Sanar, and now I've got a thousand of Gaffil's dead victims screeching through my head about what he deserves. I decided that I'd rather you _didn't_ join them. Further, Gaffil Jir isn't worth you trying to destroy what makes you Sanar Klis and not—not—Geneva, or one of her vengeance-driven, blood-thirsty favourites."

"You of all people should understand."

"And _you_, of all people, should understand the consequences of revenge," he retorted.

Trying to regain his self-control, Kyp brushed his fingers over the bandage on her left shoulder. "Do you think it's all out?" he asked, his voice consciously mild. "It won't heal properly if there's still something in there."

"What do you care?" she sulked.

"Okay, that's it." Barely mindful of her injuries, he grabbed her by the elbows and shook her. "_I care_. Hate it all you want, but at least accept it. I love you, and I don't care about this stupid prophecy—which I'm not even sure I really understand—and I'm sorry you got caught up in all of this. But we are _both_ stuck with it, and someday you'll have to realize that I didn't know anything about Prophecy when I started to love you. Hells," he laughed bitterly, "I wasn't even the Kavishka at the time."

Because she was Sanar, her eyes flashed and she opened her mouth to hate him. She stopped, though—actually sat back and looked at him as she finally listened to something he had said. "Wait, what?" She blinked, and her forehead creased. "What?"

He stared at her for a moment, because this was something new from Sanar. He had to think; he turned her face one way and then the other as he catalogued the cuts and bruises. Dara really hadn't taken any chances before she dragged Sanar out into the open. He would have groused more about the ethics of beating an injured woman, but anything less probably would have killed Dara. Sanar was tricky like that.

"Which part?" he asked finally, meeting her eyes.

"You—" She winced, and finally seemed to realize she was hurt as she touched her bleeding lip. "Ow. When did—you said you—when…?"

"Someday you'll have to realize we're in this together?" he summarized, confused.

She flushed scarlet. "No. Not— I thought you only…after you came back from the dead. And—" She looked away, frowning. "There's— I just don't understand."

Finally, he thought maybe he knew what was bothering her. "It wasn't love at first sight, but… I knew you for over a year before I became the Kavishka for sure."

She _looked_ at him.

"What did you think this was?" he asked. "You, suddenly spinning in my head because I had a new heartbeat?"

She stared a moment more, then slowly shook her head. "I don't know what…" Searching for distraction, she fiddled with the bandage on her right hip. "I just thought of something Niha said."

He waited for her to explain, but her eyes were far away. Kyp sighed. At least she hadn't ended this conversation with a scream and her back. After the past month, it was progress.

"I was twelve when my father died."

Belatedly, Kyp realized that it wasn't an accusation. "I know," he said. He stifled his questions.

"And you—"

"I was sixteen?" he offered, when she did not finish.

She shook her head. "No. That's not what I— She said teenager. Niha said you—when I was a teenager."

"What did Niha say?"

Sanar groaned. "Nothing. I'm not thinking straight. That damned—arrow, and that woman—I just need to be able to think clearly, and it'll make sense."

Avoidance was never a good sign. "Sanar, what did Niha say?"

"_Nothing_. I misheard her, or she made a mistake. My blood loss is making me obsess about something that doesn't exist."

He wanted to say something to comfort her, or at least to make her confide in him. No appropriate words came. Kyp had no idea what this was. "You don't have a concussion," he said, double-checking with the Force. "How about if you get some sleep?" He smiled at her gently, and brushed some of her hair out of her face.

She relaxed for a moment, her head sinking in his cupped hands. The word "sleep," however, made her jerk away. "No. I'm fine. I don't need sleep. I'll sleep when I'm dead."

Bemused by her behaviour, he raised an eyebrow. "Oh, really?" he teased. Her bottom lip jutted out in a stubborn pout. "So that's why you're ready to nod off, and you can't think clearly. And I'm not a healer, but I _do_ realize blood loss makes you tired, so maybe you want to try that again?"

She rolled her eyes, and he noticed that they were rather bloodshot. "Sleep is for weaklings."

Worried by her response, he sent out the faintest tendril of the Force in query. Had she been thinking clearly—and she had gotten even remotely enough sleep in the past month—Sanar would have noticed it. As it was, she remained oblivious. "If you'd like, I can put you in a healing trance." He studied her. "It's dreamless, and you'll be out like a light until I bring you out of it… But it should get rid of your yawns while also helping you heal more quickly."

Sanar didn't look at him, instead concentrating on the nervous motions of her hands. "I suppose, if it'll get me back into fighting shape faster—" Her lips twisted the way they always did when she submitted to logic against her preferences. "You're sure you got Gaffil with the Sildar? It'll affect him before he can start another attack?"

"I'm _sure_," he insisted. "I didn't get a good look at the wound, obviously, but it was definitely bleeding—his death is going to take a while, but the symptoms should have already started."

"Alright," she murmured in defeat. Having acknowledged her exhaustion, she could no longer ignore it.

In surrender, she became softer and more relaxed. Curled inward, she leaned toward him. Kyp thought—if he moved just a little, he could have kissed her. Let his lips brush hers, and then the soft curve of her cheek, her nose, her temple. He took a shuddering breath; he took another; but he still felt dizzy. _Force_. This wasn't the time—it was never, never, never the time.

Forcibly distracting himself, Kyp briefly averted his eyes. "C'mon, let's get you to your tent."

When he moved to help her, she gave him a lofty scowl. "I can _walk_," she sneered. In direct contradiction of her words, she stumbled into his arms. "My legs are fine."

"Of course they are," he demurred, not letting go of her.

"Shut up."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

An hour into their journey, Gaffil felt the first hint that something was wrong. The wound on his side was behaving properly as far as healing went, but the pain was increasing. With fire then ice it burned, betraying him with fine muscle tremblings.

_Poison_. The Kavishka must have applied poison to his blade—which explained why he had let them go so easily, bargaining chip or otherwise.

He and Dara rode for three hours more before Gaffil was certain of the poison and its potency. A fever made his eyes hazy, and his mind slowly liquefied from a well-oiled machine to mere flashes that masqueraded as thought.

Gaffil changed their course for Quatroc, and rode his paxi hard. Rafintair's plans regardless, Gaffil could not trust an average healer—let alone a Pirese priest—with a toxin of possibly alien origins. If his mind became useless after the longer-than-expected trip, Isra would know what to do.

A few hours before the waking nightmares began, he thought that it was—

Gaffil thought—

It was ironic, really, that he might be undone by one of his own tricks.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Isra felt the change long before anyone told her. The priests' eyes lingered too long, Rafintair's too blatantly. Geneva had to be informed, and she reacted exactly as Isra had predicted. Suspicion was replaced with appreciation and greed. No MR spy had ever managed to be transferred to the emperor's court, let alone been ordered to take vows. Isra was to do anything—anything and everything—to ensure she went to Rafintair. Even if she only succeeded for a little while, the potential was endless. When Isra was discovered, the Resistance could train a girl to replace her. The Resistance would finally know how to mould their girls.

In passing, Geneva had dutifully muttered something about Mujir's paradise.

Isra didn't beg, and she didn't cry.

The Holy Brothers came at noon, exactly one week after Isra had last heard from Gaffil. The leader gave her a cursory look, identifying her, before speaking. "The prince is missing, and presumed dead," he informed her.

She blinked, stricken, and sank into a chair. She did not look at the Brothers' faces (not that she was really allowed to, but sometimes Gaffil—) but instead at the elaborately stitched dragons on the hem of their tunics. She murmured half a Pirese prayer for the dead. Isra had practiced this reaction many times. It was more prepared-to-take vows than hysterics, grief, or even relief (_I may be released from the atheist prince's attention?_).

Gaffil, who was always plotting ahead and always in contact, was gone three days after his last letter; she had been prepared. This only confirmed it. She wanted to ask if they knew how he had died, and part of her—the part in which Gaffil had taken such amusement—wanted to ask if he would ever be pronounced dead, or if they would just burn the body and let the myths grow. Isra held her tongue, just as her new role demanded.

The Holy Brothers turned away from her, and focused on the others. Harvil and Jerica had run, but the rest had known better than to follow. Harvil had a few connections that might, for a while, protect him and his lover. Tewelin, Beliq, Cian, and the other spies, servants and bodyguards did not. This way, they might have a chance.

Isra left before she could see some of them arrested, and some join Rafintair's personnel. At least there were no other women among Gaffil's primary staff. The maidservants would be transferred to another household, and be grateful to have escaped Gaffil. The prince had never thought much of them. Fools, Isra thought—they would regret the change soon enough. Gaffil had never raped them, or beat them without just cause. As it was, Gaffil may have arranged their placement under a man he respected as much as he did the maid. Isra knew what kind of man Gaffil could not respect. Remembering how the other women had whispered about her, and what happened in Gaffil's bed—from the facts to the obscene fabrications—Isra could muster up only token pity.

"See what you do to survive," she muttered bitterly. "Without my cause to justify your actions."

"I would not speak too loudly," a man whispered near her ear. "Someone will think you've lost your wits. It might actually reap worse repercussions than taking those vows."

Isra's entire body tightened in split second fear before she slowly relaxed and turned around. General Alon smirked at her. "Only a man would think that," she murmured in return. This was another role, but Alon could be more than bearable at times. If Gaffil had been the type with friends, this man might have been one of them. They had come to a truce years ago, their plans complementing the other's.

Though slightly more harmless than Gaffil (wasn't everyone?), Alon hid his power behind good humour. He could be as ruthless as any of them, but closet atheist and calculative though he was, he appeared more trustworthy.

He smiled thinly, then nodded toward his office. "If you will."

She let him see the amused flick of her eyes. _This is all a game_. "Of course, sir." Despite the laughable phrasing, the general's request wasn't an unusual one. Alon was one of the few men who knew about her position, and the amount of trust—if it could be called that—Gaffil had placed in her. Gaffil had loaned her services to Alon several times, both on missions and for consultation. She had never minded. It brought further intel for the Resistance, and Alon had a healthy respect for Gaffil's claim.

Alon followed her into the room, and closed the door behind them. "I heard about Gaffil."

This, she had not expected. Isra faced the general stoically. "Yes, he's missing?"

"As good as dead," Alon corrected absently. "Rafintair plans to move you to his quarters."

"So I've been told."

He scrutinized her briefly. "You know of no further plans Gaffil may have made for you?"

She raised an eyebrow. "I hardly think the prince will require my presence in the afterlife."

He smiled with her at the joke. "No, I wouldn't expect it." Alon gestured to the canter of amber liquid on his cluttered desk at the back. "A drink, Isra?"

As she poured his cup, she realized there had been an offer in the order. Hesitating only a second, she sloshed some more of the liquid into a second glass. She handed the first cup to Alon before taking a deep drink of her own. "Thank you." Now was the time to keep her eye on him. Isra might not be a particularly exceptional actress, but she knew not to trust people. Alon was different from, not better than, other men.

"Help yourself," he urged her.

She wondered what this was, so she played with him. "Trying to get me drunk?" she asked, injecting just enough teasing into the words.

"Not likely," he replied, grinning.

_Not likely indeed_, she thought, hiding her own smile. Everyone except Rafintair (who would never accept such an abomination) had heard the rumours. Isra was one of the few who had just a little more proof than that.

They drank slowly and in silence. Isra hated the taste; Gaffil had never been a fan of alcohol, preferring (as she did) the clear head that came with sobriety. But she knew better than to break a role. Besides, if there was any time for drink, this was it.

Eventually, she remembered herself. Death for public, vulgar drunkenness might be better than her coming fate, but Geneva would destroy her remains. Isra put aside the glass. "General?"

He eyed her thoughtfully, then put down his own drink. "I have business elsewhere; Gaffil's death has left many holes for the rest of us to fill. I doubt I will see this office again for several days." Alon picked up a sheet of paper off his desk. He scanned it, then folded and pocketed it. "Until you are assigned elsewhere, you are to keep this office tidy."

She looked around. It was covered in papers, weapons and knick knacks. "But not too tidy?" she suggested dryly.

He grinned and winked at her. "Gaffil trained you well."

She curtseyed quickly and breezily. She thought of the letter she had sent Gaffil, and the silence it had garnered. "I am very grateful."

Alon snorted. "I'm sure you are."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"_I don't understand any of this."_

_Jaina, who sat across from Sanar, planted her chin her right hand. "This whole thing is stupid," she muttered._

_Sanar glanced at her, disturbed by the other woman's tone. "Solo?"_

_The younger woman laughed, but it sounded fake. "Oh, it's nothing we need to talk about right now."_

_Sanar rather doubted that. She had, after all, just told Durron something similar. "Is it something to do with Zekk?"_

_Jaina opened her mouth, then quickly closed it. She chewed on her lip for a moment before saying, "You first. I'd rather try to figure out the grand destiny stuff before the boy stuff."_

"_Try having them tied together," Sanar grumbled. She let it go for the time being. "He—he can't come here, can he? Durron?"_

_Jaina looked surprised. "He's awake right now, isn't he?" she pointed out. "And Kyp isn't exactly the type to break into a healing trance dream. He knows I'll kick his butt."_

"_If you say so." Sanar gathered her thoughts. "Niha told me—before—that the Kavishka dreams started when I was a teenager. So, thirteen, at the earliest."_

"_A year after the dreams actually did start," Jaina realized. Her eyes became sharp; she drummed her fingers against her chin in contemplation. "That would put a very different slant on things."_

"_But, no," Sanar refuted, frustrated. "It must have been just a mistake. It happens all the time."_

"_I can recall…bits and pieces of the first dream," Jaina slowly told her. "You would remember better, but—I could believe that he was just Kyp, then."_

"_What are you_ talking_ about?" Sanar demanded, exasperated._

_Jaina looked at her blankly. "It was Kyp, not the Kavishka. One of them came first, and Prophecy couldn't have chosen Kyp as the next Kavishka if he didn't barge into your dreams first."_

"_But Kyp_ is _the Kavishka, has been since Carida. Or earlier, if Prophecy has always known how Daddy would die. It was all just written in stone from the start. Hence the dreams."_

"_No." Frowning, Jaina shook her head. "Kyp fell in love with you, hence the Kavishka. Hence, at some point the dreams. More people than Kyp could have been blamed for Daddy's death, Sanar. What if he just happens to be the one who fell in love with a Na'Lein woman first?"_

"_Oh, knock it off about the love stuff, already," Sanar snapped. "It's a matter of Prophecy, and screwing people over, and taking away free will. It has nothing to do with love."_

_Jaina gave her a moment, then softly continued. "You loved him. Did anyone make that happen?"_

_Sanar glared. "I don't think I want to be having this conversation."_

"_You love him. But I think—" Jaina took a deep breath, and prepared herself for the fallout, "I think you had forgiven Kyp. Before Niha told you about Prophecy, I even thought maybe you…liked him."_

"_Shut. Up."_

"_No." Jaina's expression was just as fierce as Sanar's. "Kyp loves you, Sanar, and everyone but you knows that it isn't because of Prophecy. At the very, very least, it goes beyond his role as the Kavishka."_

"_I bought that once, I'm not likely to repeat the same mistake twice."_

"_I'd like to think that falling in love is never a mistake. No matter what you find out about it."_

_Sanar's head, which had dropped in a sulk, snapped up at Jaina's words. "Was that one for you or for me?"_

_Jaina smiled carefully, almost tightly. Her eyes glimmered dimly; it was so uncharacteristically cynical that Sanar almost flinched. "Does it matter?"_

"_Oh, it _matters_," Sanar said darkly, through clenched teeth. "What did he do?"_

_Jaina shook her head, looking more weary and worn than Sanar had ever seen her. "I need to be getting back," she told Sanar. "Mission planning—a few weeks from now, we're going into the fray."_

_After a long moment of consideration, Sanar let Jaina change the subject. "We should be doing the same."_

_Jaina turned as if to go, then stilled. "I'm not sure how much I've told you about this mission," she started. "But someone has been shipping—we thought it was a new drug, but it's a foreign liquid. Water, as far as all but the most educated chemists can discern." When Sanar did not appear enlightened, Jaina sighed. "I think—and all signs point to this—the water is from NLY."_

"_Mujir. Rafintair is—?"_

_Jaina nodded grimly. "It would be quite the 777 anniversary of triumph, don't you think?"_

"_Gantik said they were planning something special," Sanar remarked after a pause._

"_They could be just selling the water," Jaina admitted. "There are plenty of disgruntled and paranoid factions in the galaxy right now, never mind the usual criminals. But it could be a warning of Rafintair's intentions."_

_Sanar nodded dumbly._

"_Anyway. I thought you should know." Jaina mustered up a smile, and it looked worse than ever. "You know where I am, if you need me."_

_Sanar pinned the younger woman with her best "big sister" look. "Ditto," she reminded her._

"_Thanks."_

_Then silence_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

(_Set my path before me, oh Goddess, and grant me strength to remain pure in these dark times_.)

Dejah's mind wandered during prayer. It had not always been so; she had once hung on every word the priestesses spoke. As a girl she had seen nothing but Mujir and Her day of reckoning.

(_Grant me serenity so that I may extend mercy to my enemies, for we are all Your children_.)

She had not felt that in years. There were reasons—Dejah doubted anyone would blame her. The Resistance—whether Mujir's or some other, now failed version of it—had been waiting, waiting, _waiting_ and _hoping_ for centuries that Mujir would return to them and it would all be over. But everything had been horrible, and then Rafintair had come and it kept getting worse. Women were now all targets, and not the only ones. Blood had left a permanent stain on Dejah's home. The lines were more solid than ever, and yet the more lost for it. Anything and everything was betrayal, heresy; anything and everything was right when it was _for the cause_. Dejah had seen the priestesses' dirtier work, had watched while fighter turned on sister fighter in desperation that this might be _it_, that they really were alone and all that was left was their dying gasp.

(_Bind me to You; let me never doubt, for doubt will poison my soul as well as hate ever could_.)

This planet was cursed, and every day it got harder to ignore it. Her soul cried for sense, for comfort of her Mother Goddess; but was no longer convinced that it—or She—even existed. And even if She did, would She even want to exist, to stay and save them? Some days—more and more of them—Dejah could not summon the strength to care.

(_Deliver us, Mother, guide us ever; reclaim what is Yours, for we cannot do it without You_.)

Millions of women had spoken this prayer and ones like it, long before Dejah had, and they would continue to do so. By rote. Pleading without hope, and always in whispers now.

(_Show us the way, Mother_.)

Kyp Durron claimed to be the Kavishka; he had beaten Gaffil Jir and claimed that the (currently) deathless victory had been enough. It all sounded too wonderful—too _at last, at last_ and faith reaffirmed—to be true. Niha said that it was real, that Mujir had finally chosen Her moment and Her initiator. Dejah wanted to believe. A part of her did. But Mujir had waited nearly eight centuries. Dejah was no longer certain.

(_When we falter, as all do, return us to our feet; give us our eyes_.)

In the desert night, Dejah lit her candle. Once, she had prayed so often that this candle would be completely gone within days. Tonight, it was only half melted. Of all the times to fall behind, this wasn't it. "These are the days that prophecy walks," she murmured to the silent dark. "The days of heroes and noble deeds, of redemption and saving grace. These are the days of the goddess." These, Dejah thought, or perhaps the ones another century from now.

(_So say we all_.)

She turned the flame to the wind, and let it flicker out. Returning the candle once again to its cloth wrapping, Dejah stood. "So say we all," she repeated. By rote.

Dejah stared into the darkness for a moment, searching, before shaking her head. It was late; tomorrow would be early. There remained only three—perhaps four—more days until Quatroc, until Geneva. She had left both in hopes that the abbey might rekindle what she had lost. Kyp Durron had defeated (but not killed) Gaffil, and yet Dejah had not found what she had been looking for.

_You are a fighter of the Resistance_, Geneva's voice hissed in her ear. _This has never been what you think you need_.

Geneva. _Larifx_.

Rather than think about the Resistance's leader, Dejah headed back toward the camp. It was quiet—it was late, she reminded herself, and tomorrow was almost here already, and she had lost track of time. It was colder than it was when she had started her prayers, and Dejah began to notice it. As Dejah slipped into her tent, she glanced at Sanar. The other woman was sleeping at last, if only because of some magic on the Kavishka's part.

"Geneva won't be pleased," Dejah told the sleeping form. "Bad enough a prophecy. A broken one is worse."

Sanar remained still.

_No_, Dejah thought. _Geneva isn't going to like this at all_.


	104. Ch36: Cliche

**Chapter Thirty-Six: Cliché (The One Where They Fall in Love)**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Isra woke to footsteps. _Several metres from the door, walking_, she noted immediately. _Half a minute_. She had learned to push her sleepy mind into clarity years ago, and the transition was seamless. Without looking out the window, she calculated that it was far too late for anyone besides a priest or an assassin. Too still. Her head still resting on her folded arms, Isra didn't move from where she had fallen asleep on Gaffil's desk. She hadn't wanted to stay in the main servants' quarters (where she still officially slept), but Alon's office would have been too obvious. Too desperate, even if it was blatant enough for Alon to have offered it. At least in Gaffil's quarters she could claim that she had been going about her normal duties in case Gaffil really _was_ just missing. The Holy Brothers might even believe her, when they came for her.

_Or now_, she thought as she recognized a second set of footsteps, these hurrying. Isra slowly straightened in her chair. A faint scuffle sounded, and then the curtains were shoved aside with a shriek.

_Showtime_.

She raised her eyes to greet death—_solemn, remember, serene and shining and perhaps some awe, gratitude_—but stopped at the sight before her. General Alon, faintly rumpled (had he just left his lover's arms?), had somehow snared himself a struggling, petulant Dara. "Good evening, general," Isra murmured. Years in the field kept her voice steady, though the surprise hadn't helped her paranoid nerves. She curtseyed, then rose with an arched eyebrow. He liked his acting with a dash of attitude. "This is an interesting time of night for you to visit."

Dara looked mad enough to spit, but she took a second to smirk at Isra. Perhaps Dara thought Isra stupid—or hopelessly naïve—for not lafiting every man who crossed her path? From what Isra had discovered about Dara, the girl didn't exactly _think_ before taking even an illusory opportunity. Briefly, Isra let her expression flicker into something like a sneer. Dara was little more than a feline in heat. Where Geneva even found this girl, let alone the stupidity to trust her?

Alon caught the exchange, and Isra made sure he saw her disgust, faintly expressed though it was. Gaffil had liked the mask; Alon hated it.

"Isn't it more like morning by now?" Alon asked, when neither woman spoke. He smiled a little at Isra. So he didn't like Dara either. Isra decided to like him even more than she had.

"Perhaps it is," she said, glancing out the window. "I hadn't noticed the time."

"Sorry to wake you," he told Isra. He gave Dara a good shake, making her sway like a rag doll. "I was returning from a late meeting when I stumbled upon this one. It was trying to sneak into your rooms."

Isra noted the "your rooms" with a raised eyebrow—perhaps Alon had over-respected Gaffil's claim on her. Dismissing it for later, however, she focused on Dara. "How interesting," she remarked blandly.

"I told you," Dara snarled at Alon. "I work for Gaffil; I have as much right to be here as _she_ does." Apparently, Dara hadn't liked the part where Alon ignored her favourite features—practically on display, had she no shame? no sense of self-preservation?—in favour of manhandling her. And calling her an _it_. "In _fact_," Dara said, giving them both a superior smirk, "I have _more_ right. Gaffil's my lover."

Isra tried to imagine it, but found it impossible to both do that and keep a straight face. Gaffil could lafit any number of random girls while Isra wasn't looking, but the idea of him being a lover…. Isra slept in his bed most nights, and even she wouldn't call herself his _lover_.

Alon laughed outright at the idea. "Your gender really can pick them, Isra," he remarked.

"Haven't you heard?" she replied. "We're just leftovers. Not a lot left in the scrap pile. You'd better let her go before she does something stupid, though." _Like try to lie about Gaffil's_ lovemaking _prowess_, she thought with a snort.

"I think I could take her," Alon said. He sounded rather like he wanted the opportunity, but he shoved Dara away from him anyway.

"Gaffil will _not_ be happy to hear about—"

Isra quickly grabbed Dara around the shoulder. A too tight squeeze cut off the girl's careless words, and satisfied a little of the violence Dara always inspired in Isra. "I'll take it from here, General," she told him. "Thank you for your concern."

"It was my business," he replied. "We'll talk later."

Isra didn't let her confusion show, but she wondered at his response. Alon's business? "Certainly, sir."

The spy waited until she was sure he had left before turning to Dara. "What in the hells is wrong with you?" she demanded in exasperation.

Dara's eyes flashed. "Excuse me?"

"Do you want this entire world to know whatever you do?"

The other woman's face became sulky, resentful. "Gaffil is _not_ going to be—"

"If you make one more stupid, laughably transparent claim, Dara Veik, I will be most upset." Without fully realizing it, Isra had donned Gaffil's cloak of icy command.

Dara's petulance collapsed under Isra's ego crush like a house of cards. "Gaffil's in the far stables," she muttered, averting her eyes.

First, Isra thought: _This stupid chit managed to bring Gaffil's body back before Rafintair could desecrate it?_ But she had not even finished the thought when Isra realized what Dara had _really_ brought back. Without waiting for further explanation, Isra left for the stables at a dead run. She spared only half a thought to hope Dara would use her brain and follow.

The halls were silent, but Isra knew better than to assume she was unobserved. She started to slow, but then decided to take the chance that no one would care about her on this night. She picked up speed, letting her sandals swish across the floor when they had to.

She didn't have time to miss her shawl, even as the night's chilled air whipped against her face. A live Gaffil was a dizzying renewed factor. If anyone else found out that he was alive before they had time to manipulate the situation—things could get out of control. Out of control would be the only thing worse than vows.

Isra slowed to a walk several metres away from the stables. Straightening her clothes, she winded around the stables and a few surrounding buildings. She found no other spies. When only she could tell how her heart raced, Isra ducked into the mostly empty stables. She made only enough noise for Gaffil to notice.

Something that sounded like her name gargled its way from one of the middle stalls. Frowning, she slowly approached it. Behind her, she heard Dara, who was catching up. "Your highness?" she called.

"Isra?"

Suddenly uncertain, Isra paused before she could see him. _What could be on the other side?_ Shoving it into a box at the back of her mind, Isra entered the stall from which the noise had originated. "What hap—" She stopped.

"Isra."

She froze, horrified by the sight before her. "Oh, my goddess."

Gaffil, but he looked nothing like the dark, powerful, enigmatic prince who had been both terrifying and—everything and nothing she had expected. This man looked like he had been dragged (by Dara, the stupid niftyax) to and dropped in the straw to die. His skin, usually tight and tanned over taunt muscle, was covered in open scabs, lesions, and the start of several boils. When she could force herself to come closer, she saw the clammy sweat and the shudders that clutched his muscles. His eyes, though—glazed, and eerie, and…

Mad, Isra admitted to herself, or near enough to it. Gaffil was staring madness in the face.

She sank to her knees next to him, noting the damage further revealed by the lantern hanging near his face. "Gaffil, you need to tell me what happened," she insisted. When his eyes skittered over her, she frowned. She slapped him just hard enough to hurt. "Gaffil. I don't recognize these symptoms. What did Rafintair use? Do you know?"

His eyes darkened as he regained some form of sanity. "Poison. On his sword. Isra, I can _see_ them, everywhere I look I can—"

"Do you know what kind?" she demanded.

"No. No, I—" He shook his head and balled his right hand in a weak fist. Gaffil's infamous steel will brought him back. "Foreign, as well as I know. Your Kavishka laced his sword with it."

"He isn't my Kavishka," she corrected absently. A sword wound, she thought. If she could find the entry wound, perhaps she could…

Her head jerked up. "The—?" She stared into Gaffil's dark eyes. "The man you were sent to kill—_he_ did this?"

Isra thought: _Mujir_.

She told Dara: "Get all my medicinal herbs, right by my sleeping area. And find some soft-fibre blankets—you'll have to get those from a linen closet." When Dara lingered, Isra used her most vicious voice to snap, "_Now_, you stupid girl."

Geneva herself might have flinched; Dara fled without so much as a sulky look.

"That's my girl," Gaffil slurred. "You know she's—"

"I've known what Dara is days before Geneva informed her," Isra dismissed.

"Geneva, huh? Geneva Tal, the one who—"

It wasn't like he would survive to tell anyone. If her mind hadn't been swirling with what she had stumbled upon, Isra might have let Gaffil have his fun. "The _Kavishka_ did this?" she repeated. Her heart crashed against her ribs in terror, in hope, in—_ohgoddessgoddessMujir_.

"Yes, he only—it's only a scratch, practically," Gaffil muttered.

She found it on his side. "I see it." The wound itself was still bleeding, though very slowly. The skin around it was crusty, deep red, definitely infected. The raw skin made the Mirese symbol, a dancing bear and woman. "Oh, goddess. It's—" She raised her wild eyes to Gaffil's muddled ones. "Is it—it's _true_. Oh, my—"

Something burned her eyes, and she realized with some amazement that these were tears. _Goddess_. She had not cried in— But the Kavishka, then, he was real, and— "She has not abandoned us."

Mujir had returned to them, had chosen Her moment at last. The Kavishka—a myth—he was real, and soon… "I have to tell—Geneva, she'll…" Isra didn't even try to stand. She knew her legs wouldn't hold her.

"He was a good fighter."

She had already known that. Gaffil had not killed him, the Kavishka was real. "Yes, I'm sure," she agreed belatedly. The tears tracked down her face, and she wiped them at her chin. She breathed shakily. A prayer—learned when she had regularly spoken only the common tongue—sang through her mind. _Glory to the Mother Goddess who will triumph in battles and in the hearts of Her people. We do not doubt You, but wait patiently for Your day of reckoning. So we all say, so say we all_.

"There is—" Isra swallowed, and fixed her voice. "I can do nothing for you," she told Gaffil. She met his eyes, and felt honest for the first time since she had been a child. "There is nothing anyone can do for you now. There is no cure for Vengeance."

Gaffil stared at her, but then his eyes hardened. "You believe Rafintair?" he sneered.

"I believe in _this_," she snapped, jabbing a finger at the Mirese symbol. "You might want to follow my lead for once. He's the one who will kill your brother, since you were stupid enough to get cut."

He reached up and brushed her face. He studied it. "Everything has an antidote, Isra." His hand slid down her body to rest on her leg. "And I don't think you really want to put up with morons for the rest of your…undoubtedly short life."

Isra smiled at him, and acknowledged her loss. The end of a calculated nightmare, an honest challenge. She acknowledged the loss of every indefinable part and parcel of Gaffil Jir—and then let it pass. "There is no mortal antidote for this one," she repeated firmly. She had heard the myth (prophecy), and remembered something of the Sildar's symptoms. "The poison has only started on your body, but soon enough it will move to your mind." Almost gently, she tapped a finger against his forehead. "You won't be able to escape from the things you've done."

"Meaning?" Gaffil Jir had never understood the concept of guilt. The closest he had ever come was his impatience with the emperor, and Rafintair's destructive effect on Na'Lein'yhpaon.

Dara chose that moment to return, interrupting Isra's response. "Here's the blanket," she said, holding it out.

Isra spared her a glance. "You forgot the medicines."

Dara scowled at her, but changed her expression to something vaguely more pleasant when Gaffil looked at her. "I couldn't find them. None of the girls could."

"None of—?" Isra bit back a curse. "They will be in the cabinet by my _bed_. In Gaffil's quarters. Where I keep them."

"Your Resistance sure can pick them," Gaffil muttered as Dara left in a huff.

Isra's lips tightened. "I doubt Geneva handpicked Dara for anything but her…skills."

She was going to make another remark—quite possibly about Dara's "lover" comment—but Gaffil pinned her with an impatient glare. Isra sighed. How to explain this to Gaffil? "The ghosts of the people you have harmed will be given their opportunity for revenge. I suppose," she eyed him critically, "it will take a nice long time for you to care about that. But in time—a few weeks, maybe a month of their hatred… Death will be the kindest thing they offer you. And then they will have your soul for eternal punishment."

She let her words sink and then settle in the pit of his gut. "Or," she said with a shrug, "it could just be a poison, with some cure that the later stages of your deterioration might hint at. Either way, I've never seen this combination, so any possible attempt will take time."

"But you don't expect to find anything."

It struck her as it sometimes—but very rarely—did that Gaffil trusted her as much as a man like him trusted anyone. If nothing else, he respected her skills, her honesty when a lie would not help her cause. "I think," she said, "that even if there is a cure, I will not find it in time to save you." She smirked. "Even if you trusted Rafintair enough to suppose that he would offer his healer-priests as help."

Gaffil snorted, feverish eyes rolling. "What has _Geneva_ ordered you to do?"

Isra raised an eyebrow. "Geneva is quite pleased with my probable new position." She thought of the dagger hidden under her tunic. "I have some breathing room."

"Give it a week."

"You really overestimate her gratitude, don't you? I have two days."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar only looked at Kyp when he brought his paxi alongside hers. Dejah had finally agreed to slow their pace for a while. Kyp had apparently decided to try talking again during the break. Sanar had had some time to prepare. She had considered ignoring him, even simply pushing ahead of him until he got the idea. Jaina and Kyp's words—not to mention her own hallucination—however, stayed with her. She let him speak.

"How's your arm?" he started, sliding a look at her. He probably hoped she would think him nonchalant.

She glanced down at her shoulder. "Sore. The wound is closed up, though."

"Good. I can…that is, I'll help you with another healing trance tonight."

"Uh, thanks," she muttered. It _had_ helped, after all. And she had actually slept without seeing Kyp's dream alter-ego.

If it had been Durron.

"_I'm the Kavishka."_

"Sanar, we need to talk about this."

"Not really," she protested half-heartedly. "Frankly, ignoring it sounds like a pretty good plan to me." She didn't kick her paxi to a canter, however, giving him her resigned acceptance.

"You were pretty upset the other day. Confused—something about Niha. Did you figure it out?"

"Not…" at all "…exactly. I'm kind of trying to just—forget Niha in general."

"I'm—I want to apologize, but I doubt you'd believe me." Kyp twisted his paxi's reins in his hand. "I certainly never intended for you to be dragged into this."

"Well, what did you intend?"

"Nothing," he said firmly. "I mean to—to fulfill my role in Prophecy. I only meant to do the right thing." He smirked. "On my tombstone, I'm sure it will say something about the 'road to hell.'"

_Well, Larifx_. It was a little harder to hate him when he even cut the sarcastic and confrontational reactions for an apology. She wasn't _completely_ unreasonable. Sometimes.

"_I had very little to do with it, really. I didn't notice in time. Kyp did. We're both very lucky that he _can_ do two things at once."_

"They set it all up, you know," she said. "Down to…Mujir, everything."

"Like?"

She stared ahead. "It's—well, frankly, it's embarrassing. Just—things. To try to make sure I would get past stuff." She hesitated. "How—how much of it do you think is real?" she asked, not looking at him.

"I'm hoping that it _isn't_," he told her. For a horrible half-second, she thought he had understood her. "It doesn't make sense to kriff you up just because of me."

Her breath came out in a whoosh. "That wasn't what I meant," she admitted, pushing out the words before she could realize what she was saying. "I meant—how much of the stuff on your side do you think they planned?"

"My side?" he repeated blankly. "You mean, did a cosmic force pick me out of a billion beings, and arrange my life precisely? Ensure that Exar Kun would possess me, and I would kill your father, and die, but have a conveniently dying clone? Even if there was, it doesn't matter. It wouldn't make it less real."

"No," she croaked. "Don't you…doesn't it bother you that they _made_ you love me? That it isn't real?"

He grabbed her reins, halting both paxis. Pins poked around under her skin as the others passed them, staring, but she couldn't look away.

When he finally spoke, Durron was practically snarling. "You're still not listening. We went _over this_, just yesterday. Give me some Force-damned credit, Sanar Klis. For the love of— Give me the benefit of the doubt. I _love_ you. Nothing made that happen—_nothing_, Sanar," he repeated, cutting off her protest. "I can tell the difference, you know. I felt it off and on when I came back, and it's another voice in the back of my head since we came to this planet. I know the difference between loving you and going along with Prophecy. It is the _only_ thing real for me in this mess."

She tore her eyes away so he wouldn't notice the moisture that had sprung to them. With an impatient huff, Kyp kicked his paxi to catch up with the others. For a long moment, she couldn't move. Her mind, initially stunned to a standstill, began to swarm with a thousand moments, with Jaina and Kyp and Devnos and Niha's words.

And her lover, now even her lover's words—

"_I had very little to do with it, really. I didn't notice in time. Kyp did."_

So little made sense, and yet—

And yet…for the first time in too long…Sanar felt like she might be able to listen to some of the answers. Like they might get through this.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Gaffil's breathing rasped in the night. Dara had brought Isra's herbs an hour before. When she had been assured that Gaffil would not recover, the younger spy had left. Probably to raid Gaffil's quarters for imagined riches, or to appeal to another kryntath for comfort and safety.

Isra stayed. The Holy Brothers would never think to look for her in the stables. And staying felt right. If anyone should see Gaffil Jir's death, she thought she was the right one. Who knew him better?

"I got your letter." She might have believed his smug, wicked grin if his eyes hadn't been so bright, and his skin so pale.

She wiped his brow with a wet cloth. "I know," she replied simply. In the past hour she had seen Gaffil lash out for old offences, and once even forget that they were not both healthy and about to turn to bed. She was becoming used to his hallucination swings.

"I burned it."

"I expected you would."

His hands moved, twined over her. She stared at him, her breath in her throat. "You played him too well for your own good."

"It seems so." She couldn't breathe. His fingers—up now in her hair, back down to her neck. This had never been his way. Hers, either, for that matter.

"Well." He rapped his knuckles against her breast bone. It could have been his motor functions coming under attack.

She batted his hand away. "Well?"

"You'll be fine."

That was more Gaffil. Using some pretence of tenderness to reveal the extent of his cruelty.

Isra gave him her own flat, cruel look. "Better than you," she pointed out. She had been considering the dagger again; Isra quite purposely forgot about it.

"You know, what you did—really stupid. I expected better of you. _I_ always knew the truth. You never meant anything real."

And this, she thought—this was Gaffil, too, sometimes. Making her laugh just when she hated him more than ever. "I had to make sure."

"So you didn't really forget?" he asked, only a little sceptically.

"Of course not." Isra knew the score. "You just assumed."

"Good. I'd be very displeased if you turned out to be a cliché."

"Me, too," she retorted dryly.

"Alon should be useful, don't you think?" Gaffil flinched away from something only he could see, then continued. "He isn't Rafintair, of course, but the highest ranking Na'Lein general shouldn't be too much of a disappointment." He almost smiled when he saw her expression. "He already knows. It would have been…such a waste."

She couldn't swallow, her throat too tight and her mouth too dry. "Yes," she managed to say. Her voice didn't sound anything like her. "I imagine he will do."

"You'd still be better off for giving me the antidote."

"Perhaps," she said with a shrug. "But more likely I would have to kill Dara before she figured out how to prepare poison."

He started to say something, but then his body seized and convulsed. Before her eyes the boils became worse, and the inflamed colour spread across his skin. She flinched, but did not look away. Instead, she caught a flailing hand and held it tight between both of hers. It jerked several times before stilling.

"I'm gonna destroy him," Gaffil slurred angrily. "Gonna destroy Rafintair, I will, I'm the only one who—"

"No, you won't." She patted his hand, feeling strangely tender. "The Kavishka will kill you both."

The prince's eyes blazed, furious and mad, and his hand tried to crush hers. "I will," he swore, nearly gnashing his teeth. "I _will_ destroy him."

At first she thought him finally, truly mad from the Sildar. Coherent, in a manner, but lost—and so perhaps she had not known Gaffil Jir as well as she had thought, if the Sildar had affected him so quickly. But then he dragged her down beside him so that their eyes were level. "And you're going to make sure of it."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Gaffil Jir died at dawn.

After wiping her dagger clean of blood, Isra sheathed it. She closed the prince's eyes using a cloth to protect her hand from the infected skin. Seconds after his last strangled breath, Gaffil's sword wound reopened and wept black gunk. Poison. She was quite certain that it would follow him into the afterlife.

She stood and brushed her clothing free of straw. Some of her hair had escaped her scarf—the one Gaffil had given her, in fact. She fixed her hair, and straightened the stone-coloured fabric. She focused her eyes forward as she exited the stables.

Dara was in Gaffil's former quarters, searching for non-existent jewels. She nearly shrieked, and definitely jumped, when Isra strode through the door. "Isra," she stumbled. "I—I was—is he dead?"

Isra raised an eyebrow. "Yes." She raked her eyes over the familiar room, the familiar objects and sights. "I assume by now you have found a new situation." It was not a question; Isra didn't care.

Dara stared at her. Perhaps, the spy considered, Geneva had told her both to replace (and kill) Isra, and to turn to Isra whenever she ran into trouble. "I…yes," the less experienced one said, sounding uncertain.

"You can reach me in General Alon's quarters. If you absolutely must." In other words, _Don't even think about it unless the sky explodes with Holy Brothers_. And then Isra probably wouldn't be able to help anyway.

Dara caught the truth of the situation. "Uh huh."

"Gaffil is still in the stables. In three hours, you will be sent to clean them out, at which time you will discover his corpse. Rafintair won't try to find out how it happened if you're discrete."

"You're sure?"

Isra's face turned down in a glare. "You should leave now. Too many people already know you've been here. If you try to use my name or connections, don't expect to live long."

Dara shuddered and turned to leave.

"And Dara." The girl stopped, but didn't turn around. "I could have killed you, just the way you planned to do to me." Now Dara did turn around, her eyes wide with panic. "I can still change my mind."

"Geneva will—"

"—kill you if you say her name in this place again, and offer you no help when you fail at the task she gave you." Isra nodded to the door. "Now go."

Dara left. Isra prepared herself for her next role.


	105. Ch37: Mujir's Resistance

**Chapter Thirty-Seven: Mujir's Resistance**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_When Sanar opened her eyes, she was ten again. Before Horaire, before the transfer, before even the soldiers. Ten, and Devnos was her annoying, protective, wonderful big brother. Clayra was the lovely, delicate—not fragile—little girl. Mama was only Mama, not the defeated, resigned traitor who told Sanar to bow and scrape and take everything a niftyax deserved._

_And Daddy. Wonderful, warm, perfect Daddy. Her hero. Not dead._

"_C'mere, Princess," he called._

_She saw they were standing on the outskirts of Brin, watching the sun set. Her feet were bare; the skin of her arms and knees were visible. Mama would pitch a fit. Sanar didn't care. She ran forward, reaching for her father's hand. "I miss you," she told him, burying her face in his side._

_He chuckled and ruffled her hair. "Silly girl. I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."_

"_Yes, you are." She sniffled and looked up at him. Wide eyes, but she could use them to see the Strings of Fate._

_As she watched, his expression became stormy. "You should be," he snapped, pushing her away from him. "He killed me, Sanar."_

No_, she thought. _No, he couldn't know about—

"_Kyp Durron killed me, and you fell in love with him."_

_She stumbled back as if physically struck. "No," she whispered. Wide eyes, still just ten, but she could see when she would be older. "I didn't. They tricked me. I didn't know."_

"_As if the dreams weren't bad enough," he continued, his eyes cold. "No, you had to fall for the _man_, too."_

"_That isn't true."_

_But then he changed, angry to desperate in barely a second. "It has to be," he told her. "Sanar, don't you see it has to be? For Prophecy. For yourself, too, but for Prophecy."_

_She looked up at him, no longer ten—just Sanar. "You aren't Daddy."_

_He straightened, shaking his head sadly. "You just don't understand, do you? You don't want to."_

_The darkness swallowed both Sanar's father and her cry._

_Gone. Dark. Alone._

_When she opened her eyes, _he_ was there. Her heart stuttered—he was, always had been, so perfect. Knowing the truth, she could only see the lie. But it would be easy—so easy, and so, so wonderful—to believe him again. She turned from him. "Please go away."_

"_Sanar—"_

"_Go."_

"_No," he refused, voice tight. "This is getting ridiculous, Sanar."_

"_Good. You can go find another girl. You just have to snap your fingers and play with her, right?"_

"_Wrong. It doesn't work that way. If you won't cooperate, the prophecy will fail."_

_She scowled at him. "Don't tell me that you didn't manage to think of a backup plan. You had over seven centuries."_

"_There is only one plan."_

"_Well, it _sucks_." Even as she said it, her blood ran cold. The idea of the prophecy failing was… "The Resistance can do it. They'll beat Rafintair."_

"_Not for many, many years. And not permanently."_

"_Rafintair is just one man!"_

"_You must fight fire with fire. Rafintair with Kavishka. The Resistance will not manage in time. Hundreds of thousands—millions, even—will die."_

"_You're a lie, so everything you say is probably a lie, too." She knew it wasn't. Every time she had seen him, he had given her honesty in absence of his truth._

"_It makes no sense for you to be this stubborn," he groused, clearly frustrated. "You love me. You forgave Kyp. And you _want_ this—you always have."_

"_Not this._

"_Exactly this!" he exclaimed, getting in her face. "You set your heart on me years ago, and now that love is returned."_

_She slumped, rubbing her temples. "It was over _two decades_ ago!"_

"_It's not as if I just showed up now," he said, affronted. "I've been with you for years. Since Horaire."_

_Her breath caught, and she stared at him with dazed eyes. She thought of Horaire._

_Horaire, and the first time he took an interest—when she was fourteen. Fifteen, nearly sixteen, when he first translated his intentions into action._

"_Since…Horaire," she repeated stupidly. Her hands trembled. She couldn't feel anything._

_He cupped her face with his hands. His smile was crooked, but not Kyp's broken smile, not his wicked grin. "I was a few years behind you," he admitted quietly. "I was supposed to wait even longer than that. I only made it three years after you and Kyp Durron were chosen. But I couldn't let you go through Horaire alone."_

_She gasped something like "oh goddess," but not even she could recognize it._

_So this was the truth. If this version of Kyp Durron—or the Kavishka, or whoever he was—was perfect (and she knew he had been made to seem so), then he must be honest. Even if they had twisted him to suit a lie, they wouldn't want him to screw this one up. Not this._

Three years_. Three years that she knew now were spent with—_

"_You understand now," he said, interrupting her thoughts. He smiled gently—almost proudly—at her. "I'm so glad," he whispered, coming closer and closer to her. Then closer still—and then he was kissing her, the way he had thousands of times before._

_She melted for a moment before realizing what was happening._

**(**"Please," he whispered. Begged. "Please."  
Two steps brought her to him, and she crouched next to him. "Hush," she replied. Very gently, she pushed some of his hair out of his eyes. "Always," she vowed.  
For a second, she saw him; for an eternity, she found the one for whom she would wait a lifetime.  
There would never be another—none true.  
But she would not recall his face in the morning, and she would never remember his name. Not even when she, herself, spoke it in the most loving—the most desperate—of prayers.**)**

_She pushed him far enough away to break the kiss and discourage his trying again. She said something, and then blinked. He stared at her, wide-eyed._

_She said it again: "Kyp."_

And then she woke up.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Sanar." Kyp shook her shoulder, and gave her a Force nudge. "It's time to wake—"

She startled—"Kyp"—and sat up abruptly. She blinked several times, then stared at him. Her cheeks were flushed, and her eyes bright with—tears, perhaps?

"Are you alright?" he asked, frowning.

She kept staring.

"Sanar?" He squeezed her arm.

She jumped and swallowed. "What?" she barked, dragging her blanket up to her chin. "What d'you want?"

He eyed her sceptically. "Are you okay?"

"I'm fine," she snarled. "A picture of health. And sanity." He couldn't hear it for once, but he assumed she had meant to add: _Unlike you_. "So why are you in my tent?"

"Uh, breakfast," he explained, giving her a strange look. "You're sure you're alright?"

"Why do you keep asking that?" She huffed, gave him an odd look of her own, then barrelled on without waiting for his reply. "Do you _mind_?" she demanded. An eyebrow rose imperiously. "I'd prefer to get changed before seeing anyone in the morning."

"You do that," he grumbled, raking his eyes over her sleep-mussed form one last time. "Maybe change into someone less nightmarish at the same time," he suggested over his shoulder as he left.

She was a few seconds late tossing her pillow at him. Only a few seconds. But something was definitely off about Sanar Klis this morning.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"If we push it, we will be in Quatroc by tomorrow afternoon." Dejah drummed her fingers against her knee as she spoke. "This will leave us just under a week to prepare for our attack."

"Do they have any idea we're coming?" Braun asked. "Or should we be ready to put aside a few days to deal with Geneva?"

Dejah hesitated. "Leave Geneva to me," she finally said. "I'll be going ahead early to make sure she…reacts reasonably well."

"You mean without killing Durron?" Gantik suggested dryly.

"Or you," she retorted.

When Sanar sat across from Kyp, he smirked at her. He expected some response from her, but while Sanar was looking at him (staring, really), she did not react to Dejah's remark.

"I sent Teigra ahead of us," Dejah continued, ignoring Gantik's glare. "When I saw her in Afaloque. Hopefully, our arrival will not be a complete shock."

She continued to speak about technical details, but Kyp stopped listening. Something was wrong with Sanar. No, he corrected himself, not _wrong_—Sanar had no difficulty raging and reacting when something was truly wrong. But she was…off. Very, very off. Leaning closer to her, he squeezed her knee. "Sanar," he whispered.

She startled (again) and blinked (again). "Yeah?" she whispered back.

He moved to sit next to her. She looked slightly uncomfortable with proximity. He figured she could move if it bothered her; she always had before.

She didn't move. Her expression was still very odd.

"What is this?" he asked.

"What do you mean?" Her eyes were too steady on him.

"You're acting very strangely."

She flushed deep red. "It's nothing," she mumbled, averting her eyes.

"Did you sleep alright?" he asked uncertainly. She had refused his help with a healing trance the night before.

"I don't really feel like talking to you now," she said. And she moved to take his former seat.

She didn't look at him again until after breakfast. Then she forgot that her behaviour was visibly uncharacteristic, and she continued it.

Something was very off with Sanar today.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Dejah wasn't particularly fond of the Geneva's antechamber. It was buried deep in the heart of the Resistance's underground headquarters, but claustrophobia wasn't the problem. It was the other women—always several of them, some working together on one of Geneva's tasks, many of them waiting for their leader's attention. And always they stared at her, wondering. This afternoon (and always), Dejah sighed and did her best to look trustworthy. Or at least worthy. These women had seen her several times before this; they knew that Dejah was one of them. Unfortunately, it took more than that to gain a personal audience with Geneva. Dejah wanted to leave an uprising as the last possible option for dealing with Geneva. They would all be busy enough over the next several days without trying to replace or go around Geneva. Besides, Dejah doubted that even Prophecy would hold up against the formidable Geneva Tal.

"Has she said how much longer?" she asked one of the aides.

The answer, such as it was, was prompt. "If you have somewhere else to be…"

Dejah focused on not frowning. "I must speak with her," she repeated. It felt like the thousandth time since she had ridden ahead of the group into Quatroc. "It is _crucial_ that she hear me out."

The aide sighed; she had heard this same plea many, many times. Half of those events had been followed up by decidedly less than crucial information. "Well, today you are not the only one. Until Geneva is finished debriefing her current appointment, you will have to wait."

It was on the tip of Dejah's tongue to demand an audience as a messenger from Niha. The elderly priestess had more power over Geneva than anyone else. But Dejah needed the Resistance leader in a good mood, which wouldn't happen if she forced herself upon the single most headstrong woman on the planet.

Instead, she only repeated herself: "It is very important."

Nearly two hours later, Dejah returned from a quick water break to find Geneva waiting impatiently in the antechamber. "Well, Dejah?" she said. "They tell me you've been _demanding_ an audience. For hours."

"Four of them," Dejah agreed flatly. "Yes, ma'am. I have some very important information for you."

"Did the lady Niha get sick of you? Pack your bags and send you back to me?"

Dejah's lips tightened. "She sent me to assure you of her support for this information."

Geneva raised an eyebrow at "support," but nodded to her office door. "Very well, then. I have a few minutes."

"Thank you."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When she finished explaining the prophecy-pertinent details, Dejah sat back in her chair with no small trepidation. She had done her best to set a good base for the Kavishka. She could only react from here on out.

Geneva Tal was a tall woman, and she used every inch of her height to lord over Dejah now. She had striking—but hardly attractive, truth be told—features. At the moment, they were all set in their most impassive look. "The Kavishka," she said after several moments. "From Niha's prophecy."

Dejah nodded shortly. "Yes, ma'am. She was quite certain."

"Niha is an old crone who still holds out for a male saviour and a silent goddess," Geneva retorted coldly. "Does he claim to be the Kavishka?"

Dejah deliberately ignored the jibes about Niha and Mujir. "Yes. Sanar Klis also supports him."

Geneva raised an eyebrow. "A Klis?"

"Yes, ma'am." She remembered something Niha had told her, and made a clarification. "Jarran Klis' favoured daughter."

"I suppose you mean to differentiate this Sanar from her mother and brother."

An image of Clayra Whilem flashed before Dejah's eyes. "From all but her father," Dejah replied evenly.

"If she and her father were so alike, then why does she not have my position? Or at the very least, a part in the Resistance?" Geneva saw spies everywhere.

"She was exiled from Na'Lein'yhpaon ten years ago," Dejah explained. "Before you took over."

Geneva raised her eyebrow pointedly.

"She killed the High Priest Horaire. She was only barely saved by a foreigner's intervention."

"This Kavishka?" the MR leader asked sceptically.

"No. Someone not part of the group. A Lord Onicks, or something similar." Dejah hesitated and then said, "Sanar has no reason to like the Kavishka. He was the one who killed Jarran Klis when he had been exiled."

"One of the emperor's men," Geneva hissed.

"No," Dejah denied. "An outsider."

Geneva's face closed. "Which is nearly as bad."

Dejah said nothing, only waited.

"This isn't the first I've heard of him," Geneva finally, grudgingly admitted. She stood, and walked to the other side of her office. She knocked twice on a wall. "Gaffil Jir apparently died at his hands, just the other day."

"That's—" _strange_, Dejah had intended to say, because the Kavishka had claimed it would take longer than a few days. At that moment, however, a familiar woman stepped through a hidden door. Dejah's mouth clicked shut. "Isra," she greeted after a moment, unnerved. "How are you?"

Isra crossed her arms across her chest, and leaned against a wall. "Dejah." She didn't answer the polite inquiry.

Dejah mustered up something that vaguely resembled a smile. She had thought Isra was two steps away from assassination, and certainly on the verge of being replaced. Seeing her now in Geneva's office, however, clearly refuted that rumour.

"Before his death, Gaffil transferred Isra to General Alon's staff." Geneva gave the spy a look that was both disgruntled and vaguely pleased. "She will be very useful by the end of the week."

"Oh?" Dejah said, taking in this new development.

"When we attack the Holy City," Geneva finished.

"On 777?" Dejah asked, her eyes wide.

"Rafintair plans to attack us on the anniversary," Isra said. "Instead, we are going to take advantage of the soldiers' spread."

"Well, now you have the Kavishka."

To Dejah's surprise, Isra's face softened. "Yes, we do," the spy agreed. At seeing Dejah's surprise, Isra clarified. "I saw Gaffil before he died. I believe."

_I believe_. Dejah flinched as if struck. That Isra could say it, and Dejah could only hope it…

When Dejah raised her eyes, Geneva was studying her. "You can bring him here. If he isn't a spy, we will even let him fight. But don't let him think for a second that he can take over."

"He has never shown any such intention."

"He is a man," Geneva said flatly. "And this is Na'Lein'yhpaon. Prophecy cannot change either of those."

"Yes, ma'am." Dejah wondered what Isra, with Gaffil and the rumours, thought of that. The spy's expression was too perfectly blank to tell. Dejah couldn't blame the other woman if she was keeping her head down around Geneva lately.

Dejah continued before Geneva could chide her inattention. "I will bring them here tonight."

"Bring them late," Geneva ordered. "Just ahead of the curfew guards. If they are discovered, you will get no help from us."

_From us_. So there was the line in the sand between Dejah and the real Resistance. Dejah swallowed her irritation and bowed. "Yes, ma'am. I understand. Just before curfew."

Geneva flicked her wrist. "You can both see yourselves out. Tell the next emergency to come in after you."

Dejah and Isra both bowed and left the room, Isra taking the rear. They parted ways several corridors later. Isra's hand brushed Dejah's arm before she went deeper into the Resistance tunnels. It could have been an accident, but Dejah thought the spy had squeezed her arm in support. In belief.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

That evening, Krista had to don the traditional female wear, which made her about as happy as Dejah had been after her meeting with Geneva. The majority of the group tried to give Krista wide berth as soon as she picked up the robes and scarves. "So, I really don't like these things," Krista remarked to one of the brave few. She scowled at her head scarf. "They give me hat hair. And get in the way."

Miko snickered, and gestured her closer. "Come here." Even as she took four steps, the scarf loosened and fell in her eyes. "You have it on wrong, see?" Painstakingly following his memory of Clayra's instructions, Miko straightened out the head covering. His knuckles brushed Krista's cheek as he fiddled with the material. "How is that? Does it need to be tighter?"

Braun, who was several feet away, looked over. He swallowed past the memories, and said, "A little tighter." He averted his eyes when the friends looked at him. "And make sure none of her hair is visible. The colour may as well proclaim her a foreigner."

Krista's hands went up to her head, as if to protect the golden locks. "I don't want to dye it."

Miko smirked and batted away her hands. "It's very pretty," he teased her as he re-wrapped her hair. "But don't think I won't _personally_ bleach or darken it if it gets you in trouble." He ran the tips of his fingers over her hairline, tugging the scarf so that it completely hid every hair.

"You just wanna see me without my scarf," she retorted, grinning.

Unnoticed, Braun fondly shook his head at their blatant flirting. He stifled his warning about Krista in Quatroc. "I'll leave you to it," he muttered, wandering off.

He glanced back once to see Krista coming closer to Miko, gently touching his chest. Probably to double check about his wounds (all but healed, but no one just _got over_ such injuries, Force magic or no)—but he didn't doubt that she enjoyed the excuse for contact. Braun remembered that stage. Stars, he thought as he drew his sword to sharpen it. _Stars_, he remembered it all too well.

He sighed and hunkered down on a boulder. He would never forget—perhaps he was Na'Lein after all.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The watch gave them a strange look—it was late for a group to be returning to Quatroc. Braun nodded sternly at them, and gave every impression of arriving early for the 777th anniversary. The women kept their heads down; the Sildar behaved itself. The watchman nodded them through, and reminded them of the approaching curfew.

Dejah stayed close to Braun, and subtly directed him through the city. Tonight was not the night to be recognized as foreigners. Dejah had stressed it repeatedly. They stayed ahead of any official eyes, but managed to do so by being early. Dejah led them in a loop of several blocks' radius before stopping in front of a simple looking one-storey building.

Casting a final look around, Dejah loosened her scarf so that her face was visible, and knocked on the door. A peek slot slid open thirty seconds later, and a pair of dark eyes scanned the group suspiciously. "It's very late," a male voice pointed out.

Dejah stepped close to the door. "I'm here to see Mother," she whispered back, also in the common tongue. "She begged me to bring my friends, and now I have."

There was a pause, then the slot closed, and the door opened. The group hurried in as quickly as possible. The guard replaced several locks as soon as Clayra had slipped through. "Long time since I let you in," the man remarked.

"I'm surprised you even remembered me," Dejah acknowledged with a faint smile.

"Not many have the gall to claim Geneva _begged_ for their presence." Geneva's husband gave Dejah a twist of his lips. It was Dachien's version of a smile. "Who are they?"

Dejah switched to Basic. "The Kavishka," she pointed to Kyp, "and his retinue. Sanar Klis, Clayra and Gantik Whilem, Krista Harif, Miko Reglia, and Braun Yd." She nodded at Dachien. "And everyone, this is Dachien Tal. Geneva Tal's husband."

Dachien managed a nod of acknowledgement, but quickly returned his focus to Dejah. "She's waiting for you."

"Waiting?" Dejah huffed. _Great_. "Is she hiding or—?"

"I will lead you there. It is a new office." Geneva changed locales frequently, much to everyone's disgruntlement. It had, however, saved her life before—more than one rival or double agent had planted a bomb only to be disappointed. Theoretically, Geneva always had a permanent office; she just wasn't there very often.

"We would appreciate it." Dejah wanted to pat the poor man's arm, but didn't. "Geneva does not like to be kept waiting."

"No, she does not."

Led by Dachien, the group descended into the heart of the Resistance.


	106. Ch38: In the Morning

**Chapter Thirty-Eight: In the Morning**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar couldn't imagine that a standoff was the best way to win the support of Mujir's Resistance. She could admit—since neither Kyp nor Geneva had submitted to speaking first yet—that Kyp had mostly behaved himself. But Sanar recognized in Geneva too much of what she had been to dismiss her concerns about Kyp's unflinching demeanour. As hypocritical as it was for Sanar to think it, Kyp could get farther by at least _pretending_ to give some early ground.

The room had been silent since Dejah introduced the group to Geneva Tal. Every one of them remained standing. Kyp and Geneva stood with two feet and a universe between them, staring each other down in a battle of wills. Sanar was tempted—original Dream Guy or no—to stomp on Kyp's foot.

Durron's foot, she reminded herself reflexively. Stangit, her head was starting to pound. Her nightmares—fake-Daddy lectures, over and over again, never mind the thousands of memories—hadn't been kind. If her entire being hadn't been a war zone, she might have asked Kyp about a trance. Unfortunately, she wasn't sure she wanted to deal with Kyp Durron any more than Geneva did.

Dejah harrumphed quite pointedly in Kyp's direction.

Kyp shot the fighter a look, but nodded. "I'm not here to take over the Resistance," he started bluntly. "But I am not here to follow your every order, either."

Dejah groaned. Geneva bared her teeth—Sanar thought the Resistance leader might have meant for it to be a smile. "I will speak to the Kavishka and my long-dead predecessor's daughter. Dejah may stay if she keeps quiet."

Dejah waved each of the unnamed group members out of the room. "Just wait outside," she whispered to them.

"Why lead us in, in the first place?" Krista muttered. Miko hurried her out before any more of her comments could reach Geneva's ears.

The door swung shut before Geneva spoke again. "You have an interesting entourage, Kavishka."

"Did you somehow magically profile each of them?" Kyp asked sarcastically.

"Did you?" Geneva raised an eyebrow. "Magic is your ploy, is it not?"

"I really don't like the implications of the word 'magic,'" he replied evenly.

"What would you prefer? Am I supposed to believe you worship Mujir? Perhaps she left this planet for yours?" Geneva snorted. "And don't even start, Dejah."

Dejah hadn't moved. Sanar had been watching, expecting just what Geneva had.

"I serve the Force," Kyp said, not acknowledging Geneva's insult. "And I recognize Prophecy when I see it." He glanced at Sanar apologetically.

Geneva noticed. "So, you're the Klis girl."

Sanar stepped forward. "Sanar Klis." She spoke firmly, and met Geneva's eyes squarely—not too defiantly, but letting her father's legacy shine. "And yes, Jarran Klis was my father."

(_Kyp Durron killed me, and you fell in love with him._)

No.

Geneva's lips twisted as if she had sucked something sour. It looked more honest than her earlier, ill-fated smile. "Take a seat," she ordered. She gestured to three chairs in front of her desk. Her eyes were fixed on Sanar.

When Kyp looked too ready to do just as Geneva said, Sanar interrupted his movement. She crossed in front of him, slowing his progress. She didn't take the centre seat, which he had been aiming for; while exchanging a look with Dejah, however, Sanar took the seat to his right. Dejah nodded in approval—Sanar had managed to pick up on Geneva's game. Kyp paused before following Geneva's order; Sanar gave a sign of her support; and Geneva and Kyp sat down at the same time.

Sanar had always hated politics. Dejah had made sure to drill a few Geneva tactics into Sanar's head before they left that evening. Geneva's expression was impassive—better than some of the options.

"I assume Dejah has informed you of our plans for 777."

"She told us a little," Kyp agreed. "You're attacking on the anniversary."

"An attack that I—not the Kavishka—will lead." Geneva's eyes flashed a challenge. "If you are even the Kavishka."

Kyp's lips turned up in a smirk at the jibe. "I'm not a general," he said in a tone that was almost mild. "I will meet with Rafintair on 777, and if all goes well, the Sildar will kill him. But I recognize this as your war. I am a foreigner."

(_Kyp Durron is foreign, and he gained the position as Kavishka by killing his predecessor. Vengeance can deal with that—if he meets_ all _his mandates. But if you deem him unworthy of your returned love, then the Sildar has no trust in him. It will turn on him._)

Shut up.

"Yes, you are," Geneva agreed sharply. "Don't expect people—even your own gender—to accept you easily. If at all."

"I have never expected it to be easy."

Sanar wished she couldn't read—sympathize with—the deeper meaning in Kyp Durron's statement. It was never easy.

Geneva returned to explaining the MR's plans. "The Resistance will storm the Holy City in the evening, while the men are stuffing themselves at the feast. Rafintair has apparently located our headquarters." Geneva glared around her office as if it could tell her how such a leak had occurred. "He plans to send soldiers to wipe us out during the banquet."

"You're sure of the timing?" Kyp asked.

Geneva turned her scowl on him. "It was first retrieved by one of my best spies, and the information has since become increasingly obvious. Gaffil was the subtle brother; Rafintair does not care that we know. He sees no way that we could defeat a sizeable force."

Kyp sat back, considering Geneva. Sanar leaned forward. "Is he right?" she asked bluntly. "We have to attack on 777—Rafintair's planned offensive just makes it all the more necessary—but how will the Resistance fare?"

Had Geneva possessed just a little less control, Sanar would have expected to be slapped. Instead, Geneva shot to her feet in fury. "We will do what we must," she fairly hissed in Na'Lein. "Perhaps you have forgotten, while gallivanting through the rest of the galaxy, just what we do here."

Sanar's hands tightened into white-knuckled fists. "I haven't forgotten," she retorted, consciously using Na'Lein. "They forced me to leave, but I never forgot. I came _back_."

Kyp looked furious. She realized that he had probably felt her reaction, even if he couldn't understand the words exchanged. "Perhaps I should make something clear," he interrupted, using his coldest voice. "Sanar is—"

She cut him off before he could make it worse. "Shut up, Durron." Her eyes never left Geneva's. "I never forgot," she repeated, this time in Basic. "Never. How could any woman? And how could I, when my father died because of this place, when I underwent the High Priest's worst and then thought my sister lost to the same fate? I can't forget. My physical location cannot change my blood."

Silence stretched for several long moments after Sanar's declaration. Dejah was the only one who remained sitting, and her wide eyes were focused on Geneva. Sanar could feel Kyp standing beside her, stewing and demanding that she let him help if he could. He couldn't, and she didn't look at him.

"I suppose you want free reign to talk to them, too?" Geneva finally asked. Her eyes were hard, and her voice razor sharp.

"Of course."

Dejah looked dumbstruck.

Geneva crossed her arms over her chest. "I will be acquainting the Kavishka with our plans and resources. Will you be coming?"

"No." Sanar knew better than to be led around extraneously. "Dejah can help show me around. Introduce me."

Geneva twitched. It was doubtful that she wanted Dejah's acquaintances to meet Jarran Klis' daughter. "Dejah has been away for several weeks now; she may not be the most appropriate—"

"She'll do for tonight, at least," Sanar replied evenly. She grinned at Dejah. "And if she runs out of connections, I trust her to point me to the right guide."

Smiling as she was, Geneva looked ready to rip Sanar's eyes out. This was a strand of the sister-fighter bond. Sanar much preferred this to—Durron. She could fight for the power of the Klis legacy; fighting herself (and Daddy and Prophecy) about Kyp Durron was far more difficult.

(_Sanar, don't you see it has to be?_)

"I'm sure Dejah will do her best to make your reintegration into the Resistance profitable," Geneva managed to say.

_And that's one-nothing for the Klis_. "Thank you." Buoyant over how simply _this_ kind of fight went, Sanar stopped thinking for the next several minutes. "Ready to go, Dejah?" she asked. She quite consciously did not ask Geneva's leave.

Oh, look at that, Sanar thought. Dejah's eyes _could_ get wider. "O-of course," the fighter muttered. "Geneva?"

It was a very weak attempt to cover Sanar's challenge, but worked surprisingly well. Something like amusement flickered in Geneva's eyes. "Go, Dejah. Show the Klis what her family started."

_And will finish_, Sanar thought, and only barely did not say. If Geneva felt threatened by the return of a Klis, then she should already know. "I'll catch up with you later, Kyp," she told the dark-haired man. Still rather pleased with herself, she smirked and winked at him. "You have fun." As she left, she squeezed his shoulder. It was an accident. She had been up-beat, and only seeing the dream—

(_Forever, you and I.  
Lost.  
Always._)

—and she remembered herself right away. She snatched back her hand as if it had been burned.

Kyp stared at her; she tore her eyes away as quickly as possible, but couldn't have said how long it took. _Larifx. Larifx. Larifx and_—

"Bye," she bleated, and ran, destroying her carefully cultivated buffer against the truth and everything to do with Kyp Durron.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar left Geneva's office and antechamber like a wompbat out of the hells. She was followed closely by Dejah, who looked as if she had been run over by a stationary X-wing. Krista thought the former remarkably familiar (Sanar had never really grown out of being high-strung, after all), but the latter made her eyebrows rise. "What do you think that was about?" she asked the others.

"Geneva inspires quite extreme reactions," Gantik said, watching as both women disappeared around the corner. "I'm surprised to see Sanar so…upset, though. I expected her to come out swinging."

"She wasn't doing too bad," Kyp remarked suddenly. When they turned to the new voice, Geneva and Kyp were just exiting Geneva's office.

"Everything Sanar does is bad," Gantik commented casually. "She said once that life's too short to play nice."

Kyp glared. "So that's how you view 'good' and 'bad.' I always wondered."

"Yeah…" Miko muttered, looking at Geneva. "Maybe this isn't the best time to start that?"

"The rest of you," Geneva said, "can go to your rooms for the night. I'm sure there is someone, somewhere, who can show you the guest rooms. And Ms. Whilem." Geneva avoided a complete sneer. "You have accommodations within the city? Perfect," she finished without waiting for confirmation.

"What about you, Kyp?" Miko asked. "Or did Prophecy save you a suite?"

"I rather doubt it," Kyp said dryly. "But I believe Geneva and I have some details to…iron out. Do you know which way Sanar went, by the way?"

"I don't think she wants company right now," Krista remarked, but gestured to the left corridor.

"No, I didn't think so." Kyp sighed. "If you manage to catch up with her, though, she's probably your best bet at a tour."

"Tomorrow, maybe," Braun suggested.

"Oh, and we can ambush her," Krista said brightly. "And laugh at her while she tries to choose between killing us and falling back asleep."

Miko wondered—not for the first time—if he had fallen in love with a suicidal girl. "Maybe we'll just _find_ Dejah before they leave."

Krista looked disappointed. "Well, if you _must_ take all the fun out of it."

Geneva looked disgusted. "The Whilems can show you the city tomorrow," she told them. Krista, more specifically, since she had yet to look at any of the non-Kavishka men. "My fighters cannot afford to be…distracted…right now."

"Of course." Miko nodded and put more effort into not looking like misogynist scum. "We know what it's like before a big fight."

Geneva didn't so much as blink at him.

"What it's like for _us_ is me giving my brothers heart attacks via flirting, and everyone else one of the same via pranks." Krista pouted. "Nothing distracted about it."

Geneva's expression moved from disdain to mild horror.

"She's joking," Miko hurried to defend. "Mostly. She only—"

Geneva wouldn't listen to him, Krista's long-time, less worrisome translator or no. "I think the Whilems would be quite suitable as guides."

Gantik shrugged at Miko and Braun. "Get used to it. Bad enough you're male, but foreign? It'll be a cold day in Hell before she acknowledges you."

Geneva's only indication of having heard Gantik was a slight tightening in her face. "The Kavishka will tell you tomorrow night how you can help with the attack on the Holy City. Ms. Whilem should make sure to show you the city's set up."

"Yes, Mother," Krista muttered, rolling her eyes at Miko.

Geneva looked surprised, and for the first time almost pleased. "Goodnight, _larith_." Without further response, the MR leader left the room. Kyp followed.

Krista turned to stare at Gantik. "What did I do?"

"Dejah didn't tell you to call her that?"

"Call her what?"

Gantik and Clayra exchanged a look that said, _Foreigners_. "'Mother,'" Clayra said. "It is her honorific."

"I was _kidding_. Don't tell me she missed the sarcasm—does it not translate, or something? Sanar's always understood it. Oh, wait, or let me guess—the big bad Resistance leader _cares_."

Gantik gestured for them to follow him out of the antechamber. When they were in the hallway, presumably headed toward the guest rooms, he spoke in a hushed voice. "Geneva's bite is even worse than her bark, but she does care. She wouldn't be here, couldn't have survived or gained such a following, if this was only about hate, let alone power."

"I didn't say—"

"But you were thinking it." Gantik's eyes were almost black, and his expression stern as he lectured her. "That's how Na'Lein people will always know you as a foreigner. You don't see past women like Geneva, even after years with Sanar."

"I'm not sure you're one to talk about Sanar," Miko remarked pointedly. He didn't have the full details, but he knew something of what had happened between Sanar and her brother-in-law.

Gantik's expression took a turn towards the furious. "The guest rooms are just down at the end of this corridor. Knock until you find an empty room. Geneva won't want you around any of her fighters; they have a busy few days ahead of them. We'll be back for you in the morning."

"Well, I know why Geneva doesn't like _him_," Krista grumbled as the Whilems sped off.

"Be nice," Braun admonished lightly. "I believe him to be fully capable of getting us lost."

They found rooms not down the corridor, but rather in a dead-end hallway off to the west. Geneva really didn't want them around her non-foreign troops. Braun said goodnight and ducked into a single-bed room before Miko and Krista could pretend to also pick their own rooms.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

It was too early to be awake, Sanar decided with a grimace. She rubbed her eyes, trying to remove the gritty pain, and corrected herself—it was _far_ too early. Period. Why hadn't she just ignored Dejah's 5 AM wake-up call? Kriff, if that hadn't worked, she could have knocked the fighter out; it would have guaranteed her at least a few more hours' sleep.

But no. Instead of sleeping (or trying to), Sanar had figured that the early part would be better than the nightmares part. And she was out of bed. At six in the morning. To make Durron's life easier.

_And shut up, Daddy, because I can imagine a complaint about that one all too well_.

Sanar dared to rub her eyes again, only to walk right into her guide. "Kriff it, Dejah," she snarled. "Walk or stop, but _pick_ one."

"And I thought the Kavishka was exaggerating," Dejah murmured.

"What?" Sanar demanded. "What did he say?"

Dejah glared. "That you're a nightmare in the morning."

"This is an ungodly hour to be awake."

"Consider it revenge for that stunt you pulled last night with Geneva."

"What—? Oh, that. Pfft." Sanar waved a hand dismissively. "She doesn't like either of us anyway. And besides, she's practicing for politics. She'll _have_ to forget about it. Eventually."

"Like you'll have to forget she has taken over your father's position?"

"It is _really_ too early for that," Sanar grumbled. Remember how this conversation had started, Sanar eyed the hallway suspiciously. "So, who's this?"

"Teigra." Dejah stared hard at the door to their left. "Teigra Bel."

Sanar raised an eyebrow, and felt the start of a smile on her face. Finally, a name she recognized. "Won't she be even worse than me at this hour?"

Dejah did a double-take. "You knew Teigra?"

"Sure." Sanar shrugged. "We worked together sometimes."

"She is my cousin." Dejah took a deep breath, then deliberately faced Sanar. "She isn't well. No," Dejah said, stopping Sanar's questions. "Let me speak. Teigra…fell in love a few years ago. It ended badly—he's dead—and Teigra hasn't been well since then. She won't be like you remember."

"She fell in love," Sanar repeated woodenly. "What did he do to her?"

"_Darrick_ didn't do anything. Teigra's husband murdered Darrick when he discovered that Teigra and Darrick were going to run away together. Teigra was forced to watch. A year later, when her position was secure, she killed her husband."

"What hath love wrought?"

Dejah shook her head. "The only time I ever saw her truly happy was with Darrick."

"At what price?" Sanar pointed out.

"Do you want to ask her? I think you know the answer she'll give."

_So do I_. Sanar swallowed. "Let's keep going. I'm sure Teigra will want her sleep."

Passing Teigra's door, Sanar tried to ignore the truth that dogged her steps. Usually, she was good at that.

(_Kyp Durron killed me, and you fell in love with him._)

It was far too early for any such attempts to do anything but fail abysmally. All she could see, think, hear was the man she lov—

_No_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When Kyp opened the door to his room, he found Sanar waiting for him. She was sitting on the bed, staring into space. He blinked, then grinned, forcing his exhaustion back. "Hey. Did you get sick of dragging Dejah around to do your dirty work? Or are you just giving Geneva's nerves a rest?"

Very slowly, she dragged her eyes away from nothing to stare at him. After the past several days, he was almost used to that strange look on Sanar's face. "Hm?" She was so quiet.

He walked fully into the room, closing and locking the door behind him. It was an old, suspicious habit from his youth. "Did you enjoy your tour?" he asked. He tried not to be too obvious about his concern.

"Oh. Yes."

Two words—success, he thought sardonically. He pulled off his outer robe, which was considerably more irritating than the outfit underneath it. It had seemed fitting at the time—more formal, more mythical, even. He missed his old, black cape—it was far more comfortable, but satisfied his taste for dramatics. Unfortunately, he couldn't have worn it on NLY without raising eyebrows. As he folded the robe, Kyp tracked Sanar's eyes to his hands. He hung the coat on a peg, and pulled up a chair across from her. Sitting down, he waited until her eyes rose to meet his own. Well, his mouth—close enough. She hadn't been big on eye contact lately. "Did you see anyone you remembered?"

She nodded. Her eyes didn't move. "Teigra. An old…friend."

He waited. She didn't speak. "How was she?"

"Insane." Sanar blinked, and averted her eyes quickly. "She fell in love. He died." Sanar flinched, and rubbed her eyes.

Kyp didn't know what to say about that.

For the first time since he had entered the room, Sanar looked straight at him. "I didn't want to see her at first," she admitted, "but we ended up running into her later."

He hesitated, then reached out to squeeze her hand. "I'm sorry."

She relaxed and gave him a tired, but genuine smile. "How did things go with Geneva?"

"All right." He shrugged, standing. "She got better as the day went by—I guess once she figured out that I'm really not planning to take over." He smirked at Sanar as he walked to his bag. "Actually, I think she's more worried about you."

Sanar snorted; her smile grew a little. "Smart woman."

"Seems to be."

"How did the others react?" she inquired, also standing. Seeing him start to rifle through his belongings, she walked over and leaned against the wall near him.

Kyp shrugged. "They don't trust me, most don't like me. About what I expected." He looked up from his bag and grinned at her. "No Kavishka groupies."

"Poor baby." He had dropped his gaze, and didn't catch her expression. "You should have told me earlier. I probably stumbled across some of them with Dejah."

He looked up at her again. "Hmm?"

She resumed her non-eye contact staring. This time it was where his shoulder met his neck. "Dejah's contacts were a lot of the—you know—straddlers. The 'golden days of the MR' people."

"Because of your father," he murmured, touched that she was adding her public support to his situation. Rummaging around his bag, his fingers finally caught a piece of heavy paper.

She shrugged one shoulder, and averted her eyes once more. She was retreating again. "Yeah."

Carefully pulling out the paper, Kyp straightened. "Geneva gave me something I thought you might want." Sanar looked up at him, frowning slightly. He gave her a crooked grin—her eyes widened a fraction at the sight—and held out the drawing. She took it carefully, but their fingers brushed. Sanar stared at his offending hand. "It's an old…poster, or standard," he explained, watching her closely. "It's just a copy of a portrait Geneva has somewhere around here, but I thought this would be easier to carry around than a framed painting."

Finally she looked away from his hand and turned her gaze to the drawing. She gasped, completely taken off guard, as her wide eyes took in the image. Her lips formed the word _Daddy_, but no sound came out. The hand holding the paper shook, and the other had to rise and share the burden.

"Mujir," she said after a moment. She took a deep breath, then another. Her hands stilled, and her eyes rose to his. Contact. Her eyes were practically gleaming, burning into his. He thought at first she was crying, but something in her felt almost angry.

"Sanar," he said, sighing. "What is going on with you?"

Surprising him, she half-laughed and swiped at her eyes. "Nothing."

"Nothing," he repeated incredulously. There wasn't that much space between them—perhaps a little more than a metre—but he halved it. "_Nothing_."

"Nothing," she repeated, her eyes still caught in his. She took a deep breath, then broke the connection. Her eyes skittered away. "I just—"

He moved another few inches closer. "You just what?"

She bit her lip as if trying to keep the thoughts in.

Recalling how she had let him in before Niha's pronouncement, Kyp took a chance. "It's just you and me, Sanar."

Her eyes flew to his, and he almost stepped back from the emotion there. She whispered something, too soft for him to hear.

He leaned in closer to try to hear her. "What is it?"

She seemed to come to a decision as her jaw set, and her gaze didn't falter. She tapped her fingers against his chest, then pressed one hand against his heart as if feeling out his emotions with each breath. "I—" She swallowed. "Tell me you love me."

His eyes darkened, and he almost didn't say it. Her dark eyes were still burning, quivering, and he realized she looked almost as terrified as he felt—but just as stubborn as ever. _Say it or I'll make you say it_, her eyes seemed to say; but then he always heard that from her, even (especially) when he knew it was all in his head. Except this time, and he knew this was real. The moment pressed in on him, threatening to stop him when everything else had failed. Instead, he took her hands in his. "I love you, Sanar," he whispered. Even as he spoke he could hear how his voice was shaking, thinning, changing and cracking and quieter still was _don't throw this in my face_.

Her face softened, and he thought he saw—

"Okay," she said, and kissed him.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

It was her name that finally convinced her, and the drawing—that sketch that she could ignore in favour of this man—that exorcised the betrayal from her mind. The thought flickered through her mind—_**You**__ left __**me**__, Daddy_—and for once Kyp's eyes were more brown than green, and when he said he loved her, she believed him—and an acknowledgement of her own began to form in the back of her mind—and then all she could see, think, remember, hear was that she _knew_ him—

(_Forever, you and I.  
Lost.  
Always._)

—finally and forever she knew him, and she stopped thinking about her father's death, or Devnos' warnings. Instead of running, she kissed him and stayed there because—

(_"Hush," she replied. Very gently, she pushed some of his hair out of his eyes. "Always," she vowed.  
For a second, she saw him; for an eternity, she found the one for whom she would wait a lifetime.  
There would never be another—none true._)

—she knew this man better than she knew herself.

In the morning, she could hate him. In the morning, she could remember who he was, how he had ruined her life, and how she was betraying her father.

But not now.

Right now, she could only think about the man she had loved for as long as she could remember. Right now, it was far too late for her to stop.


	107. Ch39: The Morning After

**Chapter Thirty-Nine: The Morning After**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Lera's eyes opened as she sat back in her chair. Long practice had her looking out the window rather than down at what she had written. She felt drained, furious, exhausted—but it was over.

Nichyn's com-link beeped its task completion. She glanced down; her message was on its way to Sanar's sister. Preparation time was over; now there was only the unbearable waiting. Her eyes burned with tears, and she rubbed them.

Over. It wasn't fair. It wasn't _fair_.

Stangit. Just—

Not. Fair.

Feeling blindly ahead of her, she found her datapad and stylus on her desk. Her hand moved almost jerkily across the writing screen, scrambling to find the right words. She had to hurry—filming today, and Jolesp would need to know about this change ASAP—

When she finished, Lera stared at the words before her. She had started this story with a happy ending in mind. She had refused to pander to Jolesp's more depressing view of "true art." Apparently, her muse had changed its mind just before the scheduled holo-recording. Jolesp would be so pleased.

Lera stared at what Prophecy had wrought, and thought of Sanar and Nichyn and Devnos. She hoped it was worth it.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

A harried looking Clayra approached Krista, Miko and Braun as they were finishing lunch in the mess hall. "I am sorry for yesterday," she said quickly. "We were going to come, but they found out Gantik was back in the city. Rafintair demanded he come to Court. The emperor still hasn't given up on making Gantik follow his father's footsteps."

Miko and Krista exchanged a look. "Did he find out anything?" Krista asked. "While he was with Rafintair?"

"Oh, I am certain they told him _something_," Clayra replied, sounding a touch defensive. "They trust him, but it certainly is not his job to know anything more than the spies. He's talking to one of Geneva's strategy chiefs right now, just in case."

"Sit while you wait," Miko offered. "What position do they want Gantik to take?"

"Head Executioner." Clayra shivered as she sat next to Braun. "Like his father."

Braun's interest was peaked. "And he hasn't taken it yet?"

Clayra shook her head with wide eyes. "Of course not. He could not do anything to save the victims—he would only be killed by his replacement."

"What if he wasn't going to have a replacement?" Miko asked, catching onto Braun's train of thought.

Clayra's eyes flicked between them in confusion. "I do not understand."

"Pucijir's Order is going to be overthrown in a few days," Braun said, quite deliberately. "If Gantik takes the role now, he could act without fear of repercussions."

Clayra's face whitened. "Even if they do succeed, the mob might kill him." Her voice rose slightly in pitch.

"The mob might kill who?" Gantik asked, coming up behind them in the mess hall.

Clayra shot to her feet. "Nobody. They were just talking about what will…happen to the spies. After. If the mob does not know they are spies."

Gantik frowned. "Not really a dinner topic, even for foreigners."

"Actually," Krista said, ignoring Clayra, "we were talking about you. And how you should see if the Head Executioner can mess up Rafintair's plans even more."

Gantik gave the blonde a long look before sighing. "Geneva is 'suggesting' the same thing." When Clayra gave a small, horrified cry, he shook his head warningly. "Nothing is set in stone by any means, Clayra. We'll talk about it later. But this would be my one chance."

"Gantik…"

"Not now," he chided briskly. He gave the others a tight smile. "I believe we have put off this tour for quite long enough."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Quatroc isn't quite Afaloque in terms of resources, but its placement makes it one of the great Na'Lein trading ports." Gantik nodded at a particularly rushed street as they passed it. "The market crowd starts there, and takes up many blocks in the eastern part of the city. That's not the part you need to worry about for the next few days, though."

Krista stayed close to Miko as they walked further into what was clearly a more Pirese part of the city. "What's with the water?" she murmured near his ear.

Miko looked around. Some of the people would occasionally spray a bit of water at passer-bys, and even at people with whom they were speaking. "Gantik," he said. "The water?"

Gantik glanced at Krista, frowning a little. "I heard her. As could have someone else," he said pointedly.

Krista wanted to make a face at him, but she very much doubted that he would be able to see it through her veil. The restriction had been the only way she could make the Whilems bring her along on the tour—apparently they thought she would stick out or get into trouble—but it annoyed her anyway.

"It's holy water," Gantik explained in a low voice. "Try not to let any of it touch you, but don't be conspicuous about your avoidance. It isn't as potent that way as when you drink it."

"And what does it do?" Miko asked a touch impatiently.

Gantik was quiet a moment, exchanging looks with Clayra, who walked just a little behind and to the side of him. "_What_, exactly, is hard to describe. I've seen Rafintair make a willing slave of an enemy just through a few glasses of it. They say it's Pucijir's quiet weapon. People can buy it to discipline the most virulent opponents—of their own position, or of the faith, if they are religious enough."

"Lovely," Krista muttered. This time, she made sure that only Miko could hear her. In reward, he flashed a face that only Krista could see.

"What's in there?" Miko asked, raising an eyebrow. "There" had high walls with an open but guarded gate. Through it, Miko could see a general crowd of men, and little else. "Are we going in?"

Gantik's grabbed Miko's arm before the Jedi could take another step. "Not today," the Na'Lein man said grimly. "Come, I will explain in a moment." He looked pointedly at the guards—Holy Brothers, Krista thought. Gantik nodded to them respectfully.

As they passed the guards, Miko nudged Krista with the Force. _Too quiet_.

She gently nudged him back with her elbow. _Keep walking, slowpoke_.

The Whilems led Krista, Miko and Braun through the crowds to an alleyway out of the swarm. "That was the Holy City," Gantik said, keeping an eye on the alley's entrance. "Women are not allowed in there unless brought by a priest, or as a maid for one of the high-ranking men who stay there. I, myself, am not important enough to bring a woman past those gates—not even Clayra—unless they have been extended an invitation, and have undergone a purification ceremony."

"What's inside?" Krista asked, scowling under her veil.

Gantik shot her an irritated, admonishing look. "If you have to speak, at least try to fake an accent."

"Accents aren't my think," she said, proving it with an abysmal attempt. "And you're only drawing attention to it. What's in your wannabe Bachelor Paradise?"

"The headquarters of Pucijir's Order," Gantik explained, looking disgruntled. "Rafintair moved the palace into the Holy City in the first few years of his reign. The City, however, has otherwise always contained the High Temple and housing for the Holy Brothers."

"So I get to break even more rules than the general heresy and treason on—you know—The Day?" Krista asked. She sounded happy for the first time since donning her veil that afternoon. "Excellent."

Before Gantik could freak out about Krista's breach of secrecy, Clayra suddenly jumped. "Wha— Oh!" She fumbled in her robe, looking for something. After a moment, she found the right pocket, and withdrew a battered looking com-link from its depths. "Nichyn left a new message," she told her husband. Krista didn't have to see the other woman's face to know she was beaming.

Gantik's face transformed, and for the first time, Krista realized he could—did—care about something. In a non-twisted way, even. "Not here," he said, glancing around the alley. "The Holy City was the part we wanted to show them." He looked to the others. "We'll walk around the City gates for you, and point out what you need to know… Otherwise, I'm sure you would rather prepare."

Miko and Krista shared a quick look—_I want out of this damn outfit, it_ itches,_ and the colour is awful_—before Miko nodded. "Time for a better tour later," he agreed. "When our minds are all a little more free of other concerns."

Krista flashed him a grin: _Politician_.

_Brat_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When Sanar woke up, he was still there. For several heartbeats, she kept her eyes closed, waiting for the regret or shame to start. They didn't come. Instead, she felt only a deep sense of…

(_Always_)

…warmth, contentment. Something more—or, no, something very _different_ from what she shared with Jaina, but…. When a familiar hand combed through her hair, she smiled.

Different. But just as good. Right. Just…unexpected.

"You're awake."

Oh. And awkward. Sanar opened her eyes. "I've never done this part before," she told his chest.

His hand stilled in her hair. "Which part?"

She wondered at his sudden fear (she could feel it now, _there_, the place she had ignored for so long). Hadn't he wrung out enough from her last night? She almost felt insulted by his uncertainty. _Men_. Propping herself up on one elbow, she stared down at him. Kyp was sprawled next to her on the small bed, ruffled dark-and-silver hair and tender green-brown eyes. His mouth was swollen from her kisses—she decided she liked the look on him. Even if it did remind her of the Awkward.

"The—you know—morning after part," she answered him, swallowing uncomfortably. "They've always left before this—or I have."

Apparently trusting her to have already run away screaming if she didn't like this, he stole a quick kiss from her lips. She forced herself not to follow his mouth when it left hers, but her breath hitched. That part wasn't quite as awkward. "So, how is it so far?" he murmured.

"Well, I didn't expect to have to put up with morning breath," she teased, smirking a little.

He grinned, flashing his devil-may-care attitude. Apparently he had recovered it from last night. "Well, if it's a problem, maybe I should—" He moved to get out of bed.

Just as quickly, she pinned him back down with one hand on his shoulder. She refrained from looming over him—wasn't ready for that, with him—but settled next to him instead, still on one elbow. "It's…weird," she admitted. "Very weird, very awkward, but—"

"Good?" he asked. For a moment, she could feel how vulnerable he was here with her.

Leaning down and into him, she kissed him slowly, lazily. "Good," she agreed breathlessly when she had to pull back. A little voice in the back of her head wondered, _Too good?_ She did her best to ignore it.

"Then you're too far away," he murmured, drawing her closer. Instead of kissing her, however, he sighed. "So, are we going to talk about this?"

_Oh, yes, definitely awkward_. "About what?"

"About what…changed your mind, or…"

She kept her silence for a moment, savouring this, then wiggled free of his embrace. She caught sight of his wary expression before she sat up, then began to studiously avoid his eyes. He had allowed them to go through last night without questioning everything; she could try to allow him answers this morning. "Do you remember how I told you that Prophecy…arranged…everything?"

He sat up as well. Her eyes caught and lingered on the dark red mark she had left on his neck last night. "Yes."

"And do you remember how I told you that I fell in love with a man I only saw in my dreams?"

She thought she saw his throat clench and his jaw tighten, but it happened and disappeared so quickly that it was hard to tell. "Yes, of course I— Oh, stars," he realized. Her eyes shot up to see his flinch. "But I don't… I would have known. I would have—"

"It was the Kavishka," she explained quietly. "For the past several years, _just_ the Kavishka. Not…you. Prophecy set it all up."

Kyp looked shaken, but he laughed bitterly. "Of course not. So what was this? If it wasn't me—"

"It was," she interrupted. Her voice became softer, almost thready as she forced herself to continue. "Before." Sanar didn't watch his reaction. "The dreams started the day my father died, when I was twelve. Nearly three years before Prophecy picked you as the next Kavishka for certain." Slowly, she raised her eyes. "I only found out the details a few days ago."

"That explains your strange behaviour. And the staring." She could hear that cracked grin in his voice.

"You know me. As soon as anyone tells to do something, I have to go and do the opposite."

This time, Kyp was the one who pulled back a little. "Sanar, about the prophecy…"

She flinched.

Kyp saw it, but didn't comment. "What exactly did Niha say?"

"Why? Trying to figure out how to move the pieces around?" she demanded, stung.

He glowered at her. "You know better than that."

She deflated, but remained sullen. He was ruining the afterglow. "I'm pretty sure this isn't typical morning-after conversation."

"Our situation isn't exactly typical," he pointed out.

She got out of bed and tightened her very-loosened robe. "I don't want to talk about it any more than we have." She could feel him preparing for an argument, and she cut him off. "There's not much to tell, anyway." They had to stop this, or Sanar had to run. Already she could hear the guilt and the reminders of Prophecy returning to press down on her chest. Given a few more minutes of this, she would be ready to regret and forget all of this, no matter how she—had loved—that original dream boy, who had been as lost as her.

"I'm only asking because I know Devnos warned you about it before he died. I'm worried for you."

She froze just as she had been about to tie the knot in her waist sash. Taken off balance, she looked at him. "Wha— How did you…?"

"Jaina told me before we left. She wanted to make sure I knew. He did warn you, didn't he?" Kyp's entire being was focused on this, and she knew that she had lost her chance to stop _or_ run. She could recognize Durron's stubborn moods when they started.

Sighing, she returned to sit on the chair by the bed. "'Don't believe the love story,'" she repeated carefully. "That, and his attitude, made up the entirety of his warning."

"Do you think there's something Niha didn't tell you?"

She stared at him, knew him. "Maybe," she hedged uncomfortably. "I haven't properly Seen anything in years—that gift has all but left me. But I always assumed that my tool-nature in the prophecy was bad enough."

"That's really the worst possible way of looking at it," Kyp remarked, all but avoiding her eyes.

"How else _can_ you look at it?" she demanded, crossing her arms over her chest. Her jaw set stubbornly.

When he met her eyes, she couldn't turn away. The look in his eyes scorched clear the voices and sent heat right down to a long-ignored and forgotten place in her heart. "I love you. You don't have to say it." His green eyes knew too much, because they added, _Yet_. "That's separate from Prophecy. But if, as the Kavishka, I need you, it doesn't have to be… I can't do this without you. You're a partner, not a strategy piece."

She laughed a little, forced the sound free, and blinked quickly. "That's…a different way of looking at it," she agreed. And there were still problems, _real problems_ with it, but it was better than what she had come up with on her own. Much better. She relaxed, and—when had she become such a sap?—felt the corners of her mouth turning up as she thought—she could love a man who…

But with confessions that serious would come those voices of betrayal and complications and _there's too much wrong for it to be this right_, and she didn't want to think about it anymore. "I should warn you," she said instead, "that saying things like that…will probably get you kissed."

Just as she had hoped, he let go of the moment's stifling intensity for a return to the more manageable. "Oh, no," he said. "Really? How awful." He leaned close, closer, even closer. Masochist, really.

"Terrible," she agreed solemnly, but her expression had too much mischief. "How ever will you cope with—"

He kissed her. Deep, close, familiar and strange and knowing. "I'll find a way," he mumbled against her lips when he should have been breathing. His hands came up to gently—so very, very gently, and this was completely new for her conscious state—frame her face. "Sanar," he murmured.

She heard every letter and sound of her name, but the way he said it was so foreign, and the look in his eyes and the emotions in his touch made it sound like a different word altogether.

For that, of course, she had to kiss him back before he could turn her name into anything else.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Devnos gave up watching after the first kiss. His only hope now was that his message got through to Sanar and saved her._

_He refused to pray_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Once back in Gantik's Quatroc townhouse, Clayra's hands almost shook as she set up the com-link for optimal reading. _Nichyn, my son, Nichyn, Nichyn, Nichyn_, her mind swirled happily. It had been too long since the last letter, and that one had been far too short. But finally, a new one. Gantik had gone to get some food for them, but she couldn't wait until he returned. She had to see her son again; even if she only had a quick preview here in the reception room before her husband returned. _Her son_.

She optimistically activated both the text screen and the holographic image. Last time, he had sent a drawing—of the _khalan_ girl as well as himself, true, but it had been lovely anyway. Clayra was so pleased he had the opportunity to…

Instead of a sketch, however, or even a pre-recorded holo of her son, the holograph image became that of the _khalan_ girl Nichyn had befriended. Clayra stared dumbly, her hope turning to ash.

"_I—I apologize for taking up your time_," the young, blue girl said. She looked nervous, but her eyes were raised steadily. Something about the strength in that stare reminded Clayra of her sister. But that was ridiculous, of course, because Sanar had never been this innocent or…

Clayra's resentful mind veered away from the word "gentle." She did not like the _khalan_ girl.

"_I'm sure Nichyn will be sending you a message shortly—I-I had to b-borrow his com-link, b-but I'm returning it to him right after this. It's just—this message is…actually for Sanar. Th-the text one, that is—y-you can't read it_," the girl specified, panicked. "_It's…it's dangerous, for everyone b-but Sanar_."

Of course it was. Always with Sanar. Clayra's was reaching to switch off the holo when Gantik returned to the room. "I'm quite sure our son hasn't changed _that_ much," he remarked dryly. "Unless there's something I should know?"

It seemed funnier when he spoke about it. Clayra paused the holo and focused on smiling for him. "Nichyn didn't send a message," she murmured. Mired in her disappointment, the words came heavily. "This—this foreigner sent one, instead. For Sanar."

Gantik's eyebrow rose. "Well, that's interesting." He kicked the door closed behind him, and placed a tray of food on the table near her chair. "Eat up. What has she said so far?"

It would seem Gantik did not share her resentment. That, or Sanar still had him in her thrall. Clayra looked away. "Not much." Her voice was soft; this was the way she spoke—like a lady, not like Sanar. She was doing everything right, but her husband loved another woman, and a _khalan_ was stealing her son. "We are not supposed to read the real message."

"What's a little more melodrama when you've already got a prophecy?" Gantik smirked and shook his head. "Well, was that the end of the recording?"

The _khalan_'s image still hung in the air, blue and tiny but all too significant. "No," Clayra said. She pressed 'play.' The rest of the recording did nothing to soothe her nerves. In fact, by the end of it, Clayra was more confused than ever.


	108. Ch40: Going for Broke

**Chapter Forty: Going for Broke**

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

The newer spy was punctual, which Isra liked. It gave this horrible, dangerous meeting a little less room for disaster. Isra heard the other woman coming, too, but only because she was expecting her. Otherwise, the approach was unobtrusive, peripheral—normal and expected sounds of a palace. This spy was only an observer, a normal woman—just as Isra had expected.

And this one hadn't been sent to kill Isra, either. She had to be more sensible than Dara.

Isra waited until the door had closed behind the woman before she raised her eyes. This room had been one of Alon's secret tryst rooms until, Isra assumed, his lover had complained of the cramped quarters—before Alon, it had been a storage closet. Alon had bowed to his lover's pleas, but Isra found it quite useful. Everyone knew better than to snoop in this part of the palace.

If the new woman had a problem with the cramped room, she didn't show it. Isra swept a critical eye over Geneva's new spy. She was tall, dark-haired, and hardened. Isra could respect that.

"You weren't followed?" Isra checked.

The other woman shook her head. "No. I pulled every trick I know."

"Do you know many of these tricks?" Isra asked tartly. She tightened her stone-coloured scarf, thinking of the person who had taught her _every_ trick.

"I wasn't followed." The woman's voice was firm. Not sharp, though—Isra might have to modify her description of "hardened," whatever the eyes and stance said.

"Fine." Isra paused for a moment, then launched into a brief explanation. "I can never slip away for long, but it's better that I'm missing and in the castle, than missing and outside the Holy City. Even if something important comes across my path. That's why you have another place to be today." Isra smiled thinly. "Mujir willing, I won't take up too much of your time after this week, but until then, you will be busy." She would be seeing a lot of this one; Isra really ought to learn the other woman's name. They were all going for broke, anyway.

"What do you need me to do?"

Isra thought of the gift Gaffil had given her before his death, and she smiled. "I have some presents for our shared mother. We ran out of time when last we spoke."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Dejah looked up and blinked, surprised by the unfamiliar face. "I don't know you."

The other woman sat across from Dejah at the briefing table. She looked tired. "No, we have not met before."

"I suppose it doesn't benefit the Resistance to have recognizable spies," Dejah acknowledged, regaining control. "I am Dejah Salin. If you want to stay on our leader's good side, you will profess to find me a religious fool after this. Until then, no one else with the proper clearance level can be spared to brief you."

A frown. "My information is quite important."

"You're new. The information will be passed along, I assure you, whatever my relationship with our great leader. But we would rather your intel be spread more quickly than with more attention to your ego."

"I want Rafintair and Pucijir's Order destroyed as much as any of you." The dark eyes were clear, but Dejah recognized tragedy—a fresh one—in this sister-fighter's eyes.

"What did your primary contact tell you?" Dejah took out her stylus and held it over her few sheets of paper.

"It turns out Gaffil wanted his half-brother dead as much as we do."

Dejah raised an eyebrow. "Oh?"

The spy smiled, her eyes dancing with suppressed glee. "He left our contact a copy of a key—to the Holy of Holies chamber."

"He—_what_?" Dejah's eyes were wide, disbelieving. "To the chamber itself? I didn't think there _were_ any copies. That was the point."

But the spy wasn't finished. "And Rafintair is planning to be in the chamber for the entire night of 777—with no contact with his outside troops."

"Thinking, of course, that he is safe." Dejah felt hope push out against her rib cage, making it hard to breathe. "Mujir, we would be unlucky if he had _ten_ Holy Brothers with him."

"You see why I thought our leader might want the details herself."

Dejah nodded slowly, still stunned. "O-of course, one moment." Standing, Dejah gave the spy a thin smile. Moving briskly, she stepped out of the briefing room. One guard waited by the door. "Contact Geneva and any possibly available strategy mistresses. They need to hear this as soon as absolutely possible." When the guard went to relay the message, Dejah grabbed her arm. "They _need_ this information. I don't care what Geneva is doing—it'll probably change once she hears this woman speak." The guard left a little quicker that time—but perhaps just to get away from Dejah.

Sighing, Dejah closed the door and returned to her spot across the table. "Was there anything else?" she asked, more attentively this time.

The spy leaned forward with her elbows on the table. "General information—Rafintair's schedules, particularly blasphemous monuments being built for the anniversary, plans for 777… I can write those up in my report." Her expression hardened. "Something else, too—not about the attack, exactly, but Rafintair's plans. I'm not sure how much the Resistance will care."

Dejah paused. "What is it?"

"Rafintair has struck a deal with outsiders—he's exporting the holy water to the rest of the galaxy."

"I see." Geneva wouldn't care about the outsiders; Rafintair's plans would hopefully die with him, and whatever damage he had done to an alien planet, the outsiders ought to deal with it. "No, it is not really the Resistance's concern—"

"It's our responsibility," the other woman insisted.

Mentally rewinding their conversation, Dejah's eyes narrowed slightly. More interesting than the outsiders' fate, right now, was that this woman cared about them. It wasn't the Na'Lein way. "Your accent is off," she realized. "Who are you?"

"I am Na'Lein, just as you are," the woman said defensively. "I—I escaped for a few years, when I…"

She trailed off, and Dejah thought, _A fresh tragedy_. "Why did you return?"

"I left when I was married to…to a wonderful man, the love of my life, but an outsider. We returned to help—and he was murdered." Her expression was stone cold and all the bleaker for it. "Perhaps _you_ don't understand it, but I grieve nothing more in my life than my widowhood. I have a very good reason, a renewed one, for wanting this empire destroyed."

"But you still feel loyalty to the rest of the galaxy," Dejah noted.

"My husband, Mujir save him, was a foreigner, a _khalan_," the widow stated. "And for the duration of my marriage, it was my home just as it was his. How could I ignore it?"

Dejah's mind flitted briefly to Braun and his absolute devotion, shifted from his wife to all that remained—her memory and her homeworld. "Rafintair's plans, Mujir willing, will be destroyed with him," she said when she had moved past her thoughts. "Tell Geneva, if you must, though she won't spare a moment's thought for it—we are on the eve of our revolution."

Dejah considered the widow's tight expression before continuing. "However, I do know the group that will be sent to fight Rafintair." The fighter smiled grimly, then remembered how she and Sanar were supposed to be spreading the word. "As a _khalan_ himself, I am sure that the Kavishka will keep Rafintair's plans in mind."

The widow was very quiet for several moments. More than once, she began to speak, but each time she stopped herself. "Thank you," she said finally, hoarsely.

The fighter smiled, but inwardly raged that even this half-foreigner, this grieving beloved widow, could easily trust what Dejah could not. "Please," she said. "Do not mention it. You are back amongst sisters, after all."

"Yes, I had almost forgotten," the woman said. She didn't meet Dejah's eyes.

"What is your name?" Dejah asked, although she really shouldn't. Spies didn't live long; it was never good to become attached to them. _Only another day, though_, Dejah thought. _May as well go for broke_.

The widow inhaled deeply, and seemed to come out of her memories. "I—"

Quite suddenly, the door was thrown open, cutting off the spy's answer. "So, Malek, why am I being dragged to your presence?"

Dejah turned around to see Cerile, the now retired spy who had once (a very long time ago) befriended a then young and wide-eyed Geneva Tal. "Madame," Dejah greeted Geneva's favoured strategist. Briefly, she turned back to the spy. "'Malek'?" she murmured. It was a common Na'Lein surname.

"My parents' name," the widow explained.

Dejah nodded slowly. Of course, the spy couldn't use her foreign husband's name. "Well, Cerile, Malek brings you some very good news."

Cerile only grumbled, completely unimpressed. "How is that, when she only does the simple chores? I am very _busy_, you two, and too old to be running around this oversized, please-find-us-Rafintair building."

Dejah cleared her throat, suppressing her amusement. Older and more experienced as she was, Cerile could have had Geneva's position; that she was not spoke volumes for the woman's gruff, impersonal manner—and for Geneva's charisma and ambition. How these two had ever become friends…. But Dejah had Teigra, so of course the fighter couldn't talk.

"Well?" the elderly woman demanded when Dejah seemed content to waste her time thinking.

Cheeks flushing, Dejah pushed aside her musings for later. "Malek has information worthy of you, Madame, because she is Isra's new courier. And Gaffil Jir gave Isra the key to Rafintair's destruction."

Cerile's eyes narrowed, but Isra's discoveries, at least, had earned the old woman's respect. "And what might that be?" she asked suspiciously.

"Is Geneva coming?" Dejah demanded.

Cerile stared at her shrewdly. "Tell me something. If it worth her while, I will call for Geneva."

"Rafintair's location and itinerary throughout our attack," Dejah stated plainly. "And a particular key, if we understand each other."

Cerile's eyes gleamed. "I will retrieve our fearless leader myself."

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar rose from the bed, sharing a small grin with Kyp, who still lay back. "If you _ever_ want this to be more than a one-time thing," she told him, "you won't mention Geneva again." He laughed at her. "I _mean_ it," she insisted. "I don't care if she'll probably kill us once she finds out what we've been up to. Talk about a—" But then _everything was screaming and falling and_

_—and then nothing_.

For a moment, Sanar couldn't breathe.

_Nothing_.

"Sanar?" Fingers wrapped around her left forearm. A familiar face, creased with concern and wariness, swam before her. Familiar, she should know it, she should, but she didn't.

_Nothing_.

She couldn't breathe, but it didn't seem important. There was just—

"Sanar, are you alright?"

Kyp.

She snapped out of it, gasping, and turned away. _Oh. What?_ "I—I'm—"

And part of her wanted to tell him, wanted to expel whatever she had experienced, but already it was leaving her—only a flash, blinding and not lasting.

_Familiar_, her brain noted fuzzily. _Old and familiar_.

"I'm fine," she told Durron. They had been about to leave for lunch; neither had eaten since that—

_traitor_

—night before. Sanar's eyes squeezed shut. _No_. Whatever had just happened, it was bringing the memories back. She couldn't do this. What had happened? And how was she going to pick up the pieces this time? She was running out of room to run.

"You're sure?" Durron asked, briefly piercing the confused haze she had been left in. He probably knew she was lying; if she could feel him through the Force, it had to go both ways.

_So liar_ and _a traitor. At least the first one isn't new_. "Yes, I'm sure," she said. It sounded too much like a gasp, and she looked around his room for distraction. She had been a liar for most of her life; this was the first time she had been a traitor. "You know, I should probably—I was supposed to meet up with Dejah, keep spreading the word." Sanar patted her hair almost self-consciously, and wondered if everyone would be able to tell.

"You still haven't eaten, though," Kyp pointed out. When she looked at him, she recognized the wariness in his eyes. He knew something was wrong.

"Yeah, um, I'm not actually that hungry. But I'll—I'll grab something quick while I'm looking for Dejah."

"Do you want me to come with you?"

Uncomfortable with the weight of his gaze, Sanar turned away. Grabbing her outer robe, she jerkily pulled it on. "No, you should really be looking for Geneva. Talk about tactics. That sort of thing. Geneva and Dejah will be on opposite sides of this building, if they can." The inner-MR rift was turning out to be quite convenient for Sanar.

"Probably," Kyp allowed. She heard him sigh, then take a few steps. Gently—but defiantly, just through the action itself—he kissed her neck.

She jumped—the wrong move. Her heart skipped a beat, and she _knew_ that had been the wrong-right move. Swallowing, she faced him. His expression was—

Quickly, she kissed him. _Sorry_. She tried to ignore how very wrong this was in favour of remember how _right_ it felt. She was moderately successful—all she needed to be, to reassure Durron before she ran.

"I have to go," she said when she had pulled back (retreated). She evaded his attempt to catch her. Before he could reply, she had walked out the door.

Something sparked _there_, and she could feel his frustration—anger and worry and _Sanar, come back here_. She walked faster. The morning had come; she could see and feel everything and now with—what had happened, anyway?

_Familiar_, her brain reminded her.

"Sanar!" Durron sounded angry and…hurt, she realized with a twinge of messy guilt. She had kissed him and brushed him off. Had she thought about any of this ahead of time, she wouldn't have expected anything less. But part of her had thought—hoped?—that he would back off, recognizing how wrong this all was.

Already, this morning's careless kisses and soft words seemed years away. She never should have started it, not when she couldn't finish it.

By the time she rounded the corner, Sanar had forgotten her waking nightmare in favour of her tangled love life. Operation Distraction: successful.

And then Clayra brought it all back.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Clayra rounded the corner determined that she was far too busy to track down her sister. That little _khalan_ girl couldn't have anything _relevant_ to tell Sanar, after all, so the message would just have to wait. She had it in her pocket, of course, just in case, but Clayra was quite sure that neither she nor Gantik would have a free moment. Not for Sanar, not with Geneva's plans for Gantik.

And then Sanar had the gall to round the same corner, bringing Gantik and Clayra up short.

Clayra might have forgotten, and Sanar might have charged past them anyway, but Gantik caught Clayra's clearly distressed sister by the arm. "Sanar, just who we were looking for."

Sanar jerked her arm out of his grasp. "I'm really not in the mood, Gantik." She glanced over her shoulder quickly. She really looked rather strange somehow, but Clayra dismissed the concern. Sanar always looked strange these days.

"No, it will just take a minute," Gantik insisted, undeterred. Clayra hated how easily he put up with Sanar's moods. "Clayra, where did you put it? You have mail," he explained to Sanar.

Clayra was just handing over the data holder when the Kavishka appeared from the same corner that Sanar had. "Sanar, we need to—" He cut himself off upon seeing the Whilems. "Is something the matter?" he asked, visibly subduing himself.

Sanar took the data holder and flipped the screen open. "Apparently, my junk mail tracked me down through Clayra's comm, the persistent little kriffers." She glanced up quickly at Kyp Durron, then averted her eyes.

Gantik made a small, garbled sound. Clayra gave him an uncertain look. "So sorry for interrupting," her husband said, not sounding sorry at all. He was scowling at the Kavishka.

Sanar inhaled sharply, distracting Kyp from replying to Gantik. Sanar had started reading while they were speaking, and in the meantime her face had turned white. "What's wrong?" Kyp asked, trying to read over her shoulder.

Immediately, Sanar tipped the screen against her breast. She fixed her stunned eyes on Clayra. "Where did you get this?"

Clayra shrugged uncomfortably. "One of Nichyn's friends sent it. I have not read it—she said it was for your eyes only."

"What?" Sanar's expression showed her disbelief. "But Clayra, this is—"

"I know nothing else," Clayra protested. "The rest of her message was only to express the importance and danger, and her 'best wishes.'" Clayra sniffed. "It was a waste of time, just as this is." Her eyes widened briefly, as if she couldn't quite believe her own boldness. "We have to go now—we have to meet with Geneva."

Clayra, with Gantik in tow, made her escape before Sanar could stop them. Sanar didn't try; instead, she re-read the message.

Kyp, still watching, became concerned. "What does it say?"

Sanar's expression, which had previously been so telling, smoothed into an unreadable look. "'Dear Sir-slash-Madame, I am the widowed Queen of Nar Shaddaa, blah, blah, blah…give me your money, you poor sucker.'"

He frowned at her sarcasm. "Sanar—"

"I still have to go," she said suddenly, and darted away from him for the second time that afternoon.

"Kriff," he muttered, and wondered how bad this was. He could only imagine that he should take the hint and forget everything that had happened since last night. Sanar had probably realized her mistake, or at least that she couldn't reconcile their truths with—whatever dream they had shared last night and early this morning. Already he could feel it returning—the resignation of loving Sanar Klis for years with only her existence as encouragement, the condemning voices of his Carida victims, and now the Sildar's whispers as well.

But no, he reminded himself. He couldn't do that anymore. Last night had happened—it had carried on over to this morning, even. That had been _real_. If Sanar wanted to change her mind, she would just have to tell Kyp her own damn self.

His determination renewed, Kyp was settled on following Sanar again when still another person turned into the hallway. "What _is_ it with that corner?" he demanded.

Dejah waved away the crazy hero's ruminations. "There you are," she said. "We know where Rafintair is going to be during the attack. Come—the spy had to leave already, but she and I compiled the information. Geneva sent me to find you."

He sent a frustrated look down the hallway where Sanar had disappeared. For a supposedly prophesied love story, this wasn't going very smoothly. Even just a few less interruptions could be helpful. Scowling, he focused on Dejah. "You know, Sanar is looking for you."

"I don't know why," Dejah replied, raising an eyebrow. "She told me last night that she would probably be out of touch all day."

"I guess she changed her mind." This, at least, was encouraging. It supported the idea that something specific had scared Sanar off—quite probably whatever had caused her to freeze earlier in his (their?) room. He saved that thought for later.

"I'm sure she'll find something to do until you two meet up." Kyp gave Dejah a grim smile. "Until then, which way to my information?"

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

It was time to mend bridges. Past time, really, and Lera could admit it. Since Nichyn had found out about Devnos, everything had been awkward. Although they remained friends, she could sense his distance and restraint. He couldn't agree with the risks, even for his aunt; Lera couldn't imagine _not_ taking the risks to save a woman—even for a relative stranger.

As Jolesp and the others began packing up for the night, however, Lera's mind was a little lighter. The holo-film was winding down; the last scenes were finally written, and slated to be recorded over the next few days. Jolesp had his meaningful sacrifice-ending. Force willing, Sanar Klis would not.

The practice session had ended at Jolesp's house tonight, with all the actors going through their final scenes. Lera had already explained what she expected from the ending, and had given the actors some room since then. Instead of sitting in on the first official reading, she had spent time going through what had already been recorded. It had been a productive day, a good one, despite the strain between herself and Nichyn. She could almost fall asleep right here, if only she didn't feel so…adrift. She had jumped into Prophecy, discovered its dirty laundry and done her best to help, but now there was nothing else she could do.

When he sat across from her, she smiled but didn't look up. "Hey."

Nichyn sighed and took one of her hands. "Hey," he echoed dutifully. He had been on Gallinore for nearly a year now; she hardly ever had to help him anymore. Perhaps he would leave her soon—not because of Devnos, but because he no longer needed her. No, she chastised herself. That wasn't fair.

"Long day," she said, guessing his concern.

He squeezed her hand. "Was it?"

She grinned. "We didn't talk all day, Nichyn. You sure know how to feed a girl's ego." It had been a productive day, but a lonely one, surrounded by friends but estranged from one of her dearest in the group.

"We talked some."

"Not really." She lifted her eyes to meet his. "How are you?"

He searched her face, his own expression solemn. "It depends on how you are."

"Oh." His confession made her blush and care for him even more than before. He always seemed to stumble upon just the right thing to say. She wondered what he sounded like in his native language. "I'm fine."

"Well, I am worried." Earnest brown eyes pierced hers.

"Nichyn—" She didn't want to fight. Not again.

"No, I am not—I'm not trying to change your mind," he interrupted quickly. "I don't like it at all, you know I don't. I hate the risks, and am certain the consequences of this will be weightier than you imagine. I cannot see what one person—even two people—can accomplish against a foe like Prophecy. But I hate even more the idea of you going through this alone. _That_ is something I cannot allow."

She bit her lip and rooted through her pocket with a clumsy hand. "I borrowed your com-link," she admitted, holding it out to him. "To send the message to your mother."

He took it, staring at the comm. before returning his gaze to her face. "So it is over?"

She shrugged. "One way or another, at least on my end. Hopefully, your mother and your aunt will be together, or have a way of contacting each other and…" She smiled weakly. "Tomorrow is 777, isn't it?"

Nichyn was quiet for a moment. "Yes."

"Good. I can't take much more of this waiting."

Standing, Nichyn tugged her up with him. "Come. We missed the transport by now. We'll have to walk."

She smiled when he slid an arm around her shoulder. "You going to keep me safe on the big, bad, Crala streets?" she teased.

He squeezed her shoulder. "Something like that."

Walking home, neither spoke again of what the next day would bring, but neither's thoughts were far away from it.

They—Lera, Nichyn, and Devnos—waited.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

Sanar stayed "busy" until late in the night, later even than Geneva and Durron's strategy talks. She reminded herself that, guilt and confusion and Durron aside, it was supposed to be that way. She hadn't had to look _far_ to find work, after all.

She slept in her own room, and tried not to think about how this no longer felt right. She tried not to miss a familiar embrace, or sleepy-content hazel eyes, or a way of saying her name like it was absolution. She even tried to ignore her brain's insistence that she recognized something about her earlier panic attack. She tried.

The nightmares were expected by now, and she closed her eyes resigned to opening them again in just a few hours.

It didn't quite work that way.

In the early dawn hours, Sanar stopped breathing for a moment—then gasped awake.

_Nothing._

_Empty_.

She knew now what she had felt, though she had thought the gift long dead.

The Strings. And a warning.

_Void_.


	109. Ch41: Pucijir's Morning

**Chapter Forty-One: Pucijir's Morning**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When Holy Emperor Rafintair Jir woke, the morning belonged to Pucijir. All was the way it should be on 777.

777: The holy anniversary, rare for all its power. The day Pucijir's Order would finally break Mujir's grasp on this planet. Crush the paltry resistance, and destroy their desperate grasp on hope.

Surveying his world from the balcony, Rafintair's lips curled in a smile. Pucijir's morning held nothing but promise; today, the faithful would gain their final victory.

The Holy Emperor left his room to pray.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kyp Durron hadn't slept well, even when he finally made it to his bed. Somehow, despite his conviction that the events of the previous night and morning had been real, a full day had passed without finding Sanar alone. What few times he had seen her, there had only been the briefest glimpses of her in a protective group.

He could still feel her kisses on his lips—and _she_ had kissed _him_, unlike that one time years ago when he hadn't really been himself. She couldn't keep ignoring it; she had kissed him, _she_ had started this, she had told him about their dreams and had smiled at him, and she had to face him now. She had to.

But she had been avoiding him ever since she had received that letter, and she could certainly continue her denial today. Even if someone locked them in a closet for an hour, today wasn't the day to figure out a relationship. Kyp could deal with Geneva and Rafintair and the Sildar, or he could deal with Sanar Klis. 777 had trapped him with the first set of struggles.

Warnings—Niha's, Devnos', Jaina's—surrounded his every thought. The truth of Sanar's role in Prophecy (_tool or partner, neither really did her proper justice_) could be the only problem. It _could_—but Kyp didn't dare take that chance.

Geneva was probably expecting him to meet with her or Cerile to fine tune the attack on Rafintair.

Kyp left to find Sanar.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The morning of 777, Krista Harif rolled over on her side and realized she had everything to lose. Miko lay on his side of the bed, a perfect gentlemanlike distance from her—except between their left hands, which were loosely entwined. He was still asleep, red hair mussed and face soft from sleep.

Krista's throat clogged and she bit down on her lip. _Everything to lose_. She hadn't felt this kind of pre-fight dread in years, and she didn't like it now.

The need to run—run _now_ and _far away_—swelled. She could wake Miko (she couldn't leave him now, he'd have to come); they could leave before seeing this suicidal mission through. These were horrible odds; Krista had known Kyp Durron too long through Jaina's affectionate, sarcastic eyes to see him as an infallible myth; this wasn't even their fight.

"Miko," she whispered. He stirred, but didn't wake yet. Krista watched him. This wasn't safe enough, not with Miko—

(_"Then we'll have to do that," Krista replied. "All of us. We're going to make it."  
"Krista," Sanar said plainly, "I know at least one person will never leave this planet alive."  
And she looked at Miko, and smiled mirthlessly_.)

Krista shuddered. They _had_ to leave, she couldn't lose another person, and not…not Miko.

She remembered the worst days of Braun's grief. She could never forget her first day of being an orphan.

But newer memories came to her, too—that kriffing, stifling veil, and the _looks_, and Veras and Sanar and Dejah and—

No running, then.

No more running. If one of them had to die today—

(_I know at least one person will never leave this planet alive_)

—it would just have to be her—no matter what Sanar had said. Or not said. Niha had made threatening noises in Krista's direction, too, after all, and Niha was a head priestess and oracle-like person. Krista had a head start.

"Mmph." Miko's eyes opened slowly, sleepily. "Errap sah'rrlee."

She grinned at him (never could help it), and rolled over until she was closer to him (couldn't help it anymore). "You are so not a morning person."

"Grrumphlps?" he mumbled, reaching out with one hand and finding her waist.

"We don't have to get up just yet," Krista told him. "They won't miss us for at least a few hours."

"Mmkay." He pulled her closer, and she smiled and wrapped an arm around him and he was so _alive_ she could feel her heart constricting but she didn't run.

A few more hours. Krista didn't fall back asleep as she waited and watched.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Braun Yd opened his eyes and loved (missed) his wife.

Rising from his bed, he prepared for the battle.

_Love you, Veras. Love you, love you love you loveyouloveyouloveyoulove_…

_I'll make them pay_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When Pucijir's morning began, Lerasina Verili was still asleep. She dreamed of Prophecy, and darkness, and things she would never remember upon waking.

Devnos Klis, still trapped in his familial devotion, waited on the shores of the River, and kept a close eye on both Sanar and Lera for if—when—Prophecy struck.

When Lera _did_ wake, it was far earlier than she had planned, but she didn't try to return to her dreams. _Today's the day_, she thought to Devnos. _Isn't it?_

_Yes_.

She rose from her bed, scrubbed her tired face clean in the 'fresher, and stared blankly into the mirror. Finally, she threw the washcloth back onto the sink ledge. "Thank the Force."

Devnos gently brushed her mind. She gave the ghost (mirror) a brittle, commiserating smile. "I know." It had to be worth it, it had to work, it _had_ to. "I know."

She prepared for the day.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The new Head Executioner slept late and woke disoriented. Clayra remained asleep next to him.

Removing himself from their bedchamber, he stepped out onto a nearby balcony. He had grown up in this house, within sight of the Holy City, next door to one of the High Priest Horaire's estates. If the Resistance won, he had no doubt that this place would be destroyed, burned from history.

He thought of Sanar.

Hated her.

Loved her.

Hated her.

He just—

Gantik returned to his room and Sanar's little shadow sister.

_Fine. So be it_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Lera nearly walked into Nichyn when she stepped into one of the many hallways in Jolesp's house. The Na'Lein teenager caught her, glancing at the door curtain through which she had exited. "Getting an early start on the editing?" he asked curiously.

Then he remembered: "Oh."

She looked shaky and tired. "I can't just sit around thinking about it," she explained.

Funny, Nichyn thought. This was the first time he had looked at Lera and thought of her as fragile. He immediately shook it off, chiding himself for letting his fears change his eyes. Not fragile, no, but something was… For the first time, he saw something Na'Lein in Lera's eyes—but what?

"Well," he said, "we have a big day ourselves, or so I am told."

She looked faintly surprised, then shook her head. "The filming. Right."

"You called it the 'climax,' I believe?" He nodded down the hallway to where Jolesp and the others would be waiting.

She nodded and hooked an arm in his, leaning in a little more than usual. He liked her close, but somehow it reminded him of Élin. He had only met Niha's protégé a few times, but she had been recognizably different from most other Na'Lein women. She wasn't quiet for broken spirit or simmering resentment; she was quietest right before she channelled Mujir's exhausting power into one of the spirit dances.

That was it, he understood suddenly. That was what he had recognized. Lera was gathering all her strength in the calm before the storm.

"Lera," he said uncertainly.

She looked up at him with open, tired eyes. "Hm?"

He hesitated before realizing his own suspicions. "It is over—for you, that is. Isn't it?"

"I told you it was," she replied wearily. "Didn't I? As of a few nights ago, I'm useless."

Nichyn severely doubted Lera's ability (or desire) to lie to him, let alone lie convincingly. He believed her. Releasing his hand from hers, he slipped an arm around her shoulders. "Then we just have to get through today."

She wrapped an arm around his back. "Right."

And yet—and yet he could still see Élin, quiet and subdued and almost wilting before she unleashed herself in the goddess' violent dance.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Metal clanked against metal as swords and daggers were prepared, and scavenged armour donned. More than one Resistance warrior wore a chest plate of silverware; more arms were protected only by leather-patched sleeves.

Mujir's army went to war this night.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Dejah Salin had woken early, and prepared and dressed and rehearsed-every-lafit-plan-fifty-times early. She hadn't been able to sleep, and had risen from hours of ceiling-staring to instead be ready.

_Should have kept staring at the ceiling_, she thought as she watched the refugee fighters dig through the MR armoury. These women had nothing but this place; there were so many of them.

Earlier today, Sanar had briefly dragged Dejah out of the armoury—Dejah had been staring at the wall—for "last minute support tactics." It really was amazing, the fighter considered, that Sanar could be so devoted to making things better for Durron, and yet still avoid him so zealously. They had found their way back here, and now Sanar had to deal with the man. The tension between Sanar and the Kavishka was thicker than ever. Dejah was ready to give up on them, even if Sanar's eyes did follow the Kavishka more obviously than ever.

_Right, well, there goes prophecy_, Dejah thought. It wasn't the first time, but the clock was ticking down to the final seconds.

The last seconds, and Dejah realized that the Kavishka had finally caught Sanar's hand and was pulling her out of the busy room. Sanar didn't fight it; Dejah refused to try to interpret Sanar's expression for hope's sake. Standing on the precipice with everything to gain after so many years, Dejah found it almost physically painful to hope.

There was everything to gain—or perhaps only the end, the final gasp of their faith. This day, hope was more dangerous than any Holy Brother.

Dejah hadn't prayed yet today.

_Mujir guide us and—_

She bit her lip hard enough to bleed, and counted backwards from one hundred. Praying and hoping were so closely entwined, and equally risky…terrifying.

_Mujir guide and protect us—_

Everything to gain, Dejah thought—but what did that mean? If everything tried and known and wrong on this cursed world changed, what would be left? What waited on the other side?

_Mujir guide and protect us, lead us through our trying hours so that we may be reborn_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When everything fell silent, Sanar Klis remembered how she had fallen for this man. She remembered—all too well. And now really wasn't the time for her growth as a person.

He closed the door behind them, then turned to face her. His face was very still. He realized the truth—or at least about the moment—and Sanar felt a surge of guilt and relief. She should really make sure he understood more, but first…first the war.

She glanced around the room he had found. "What's this?" she asked. It was empty—abandoned, more like—but smelled faintly sour. An old work out room, perhaps?

Kyp visibly stopped himself from misunderstanding the question. "Here," he said.

She blinked at him before realizing he held out something for her to take. His lightsaber, to be more precise. She hadn't noticed the extra weapon; the Sildar was sheathed at his hip, while a second, unfamiliar 'sabre hung on the other side of his belt. "Uh, okay?" She misjudged the distance she had to reach; their fingers brushed as she took the lightsaber.

"I borrowed Miko's," he explained, unclipping the second 'sabre from where it hung. "You never really listened when I tried to teach you how to use one of these."

"Jaina didn't exactly let me leave without some help," Sanar started.

"Indulge me in a refresher's course. You'll be using this when Holy Brother's charge us."

"With swords," she pointed out.

"With considerably greater numbers and skill," he countered. "We have two lightsabers, and Prophecy. Otherwise, it's anybody's game."

"We'll win," Sanar insisted.

"I'd settle for you surviving," she thought she heard him mutter.

"Kyp—" She stopped, and reminded herself, _Later_. "Fine, so, glowy point in the bad guy. What else?"

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Dejah opened her eyes, and realized she was still in the Resistance's haphazard shrine to Mujir. She had stumbled here on her own, but still every breath came hard, and the desire to run built at the pit of her stomach.

This place of worship was nothing beautiful to Niha's abbey. Some leftover brown paint had been splattered on the walls to make it feel warmer, but the colour was fading now to the usual grey clay beneath it. Small icons and candles followed the walls, the former roughly hewn and the latter burned low. A goddess' holy place, showing every one of its abandoned and difficult, heartbreaking years.

Dejah closed her eyes. She and a few others had kept this room up; Dejah knew far more than that small number used it. The faithful, even disenchanted and despairing, still clung to Mujir. Children reached to the Mother.

Leaning forward, Dejah began to pray.

_Mother guide and protect us. Lead us through the darkness, and catch us when we stumble…_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Inevitably, their sparring brought them close enough that every memory danced through Sanar's head. Close—his one hand on her shoulder, the other twisting her arm behind her, and her free elbow hooked around his neck. She shuddered to a stop. Kyp had considerably more experience in dealing with this; he watched her through wary eyes.

Oh, well, _kriff_ later, she decided, and tugged him until the distance between them was gone. "_Fannari_," she whispered. _Sorry_. He relaxed fractionally against her. Marginally, but she could deal with that. She could talk quickly and sensibly and help him understand, even if this really wasn't the time, but it was important, and she had to make this right and—

But she was Sanar Klis, so she kissed him first. Kissed him with none of her learned finesse, just with need and love and _sorry_ and opening herself wide open until he began to understand, and then he chased into her, and he was everywhere, filling all the holes in her tattered being and she could only throw all of herself into returning the favour.

Of course, there _they_ were, the triumvirate—Prophecy, Daddy/guilt, and Void—but _damnit_, she was doing this right, now, so she just kissed him harder until the last wall crumbled and all she could think was _Kyp_ and _finally, love_, and it was time to move the kriff on.

Love. She was in _love_, and damn it if she was messing this up again.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Mother, show us the right way, the true way, the path and Your plan for us. If it be Your will, use us to return balance to this place. Give us strength to fill our purpose, and grace to do it as You would have us_.

Gaffil would have sneered at her prayers; watching Alon return from his latest heresy, Isra wondered how her new boss might take them. If he survived today, perhaps she would get a chance to ask him. Right now, he carried his post-coital glow too well (and really, right before a full-scale attack? If Rafintair saw him…) to notice if she tried to perform a spirit dance. Even if she stomped on his feet in the meantime. Which she would, today—anything to slow him down properly. Today ripped off all the gloves and masks as far as she (and hopefully every other spy) was concerned. The Pirese masters just didn't know it yet.

"Lovely morning for the festivals, don't you think?" Alon gave her a jaunty, slightly smug (and pitying? Oh, fool, thy name is…) smile. She could read his mind today. He thought that tonight would see her lost and broken—no sisters, no refuge, certainly no faith.

Alon hadn't seen Gaffil. He had never known the Mother. He definitely didn't know that he would be the one destroyed by this time tomorrow. As much as she liked him, Isra had no intention or desire whatsoever to save him.

She kept her expression clueless, with just a hint of disgust. "The weather is very nice today," she agreed without agreeing.

"Yes, well, clean up in here, and then you can have the rest of the day for yourself."

Which meant either he was offering her a Pirese-free afternoon before her death, or he hoped that she would go to MR headquarters for her guaranteed slaughter. "Thank you, sir," she murmured, curtseying. It was their last day; she would think a little better of him before his death. Anyway, this fit in with her plans.

Until the moment Alon walked out of his quarters to finalize the plans for his attack, Isra remained the spy—walking the thin fence between her cause and her ability to best manipulate the greatest Pirese flaws. When the general left, however, Isra became everything that Gaffil had expected of her.

The morning belonged to Pucijir. The night belonged only to the Mother and Her children.

Isra and Gaffil would make sure of it.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"We really have the worst timing imaginable, you know."

Sanar grinned into Kyp's neck. "That might be my fault." She missed a beat, considering. "No, it's definitely my fault. Anyway," she shrugged, "it works for me."

"Well, of course—we're only going to war with a fanatical empire in a few hours." He didn't look like he minded too much.

Settling her nerves before she could think it through, Sanar kissed him. "I love you."

He froze for a long moment, staring at her with amazed eyes. "You do?"

"Well, yeah."

He blinked at her. "But…really?"

She laughed, suddenly lighter than she could ever remember being. Now that the words were out in the open, she could hardly believe that she had waited so long. "Oh, no," she said. "Not really. I'm kidding. I'm practicing for when the _other_ Kyp Durron gets off his lazy butt and—"

He laughed warmly, freely, buoyed by the same giddiness she felt. "You are just— Sorry, no takebacks. You're stuck with me now."

Her mood faltered for a moment—_Devnos' note_—but he was too busy running his lips over her skin to notice. And when she thought of telling him (because she was doing things right this time, before it was too late), her thoughts were quickly swallowed in his whispers of _I love you, I love you, I love you_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista and Miko were comparatively late in showing up to the weaponry room. Miko claimed that they had been sparring in preparation for the attack. "Yeah, there's a lot of that going on," Dejah muttered in response. Kyp and Sanar had yet to return—she expected that their distraction, however, was of far less romantic origins.

Shaking away her worries about Prophecy, Dejah jerked her thumb towards the back of the room. "One sword per person. You are on your own for armour, but there may be a few daggers left."

Miko tipped his head in thanks. "We won't take more than we need."

"Take anything you can use," the fighter said, glancing around the room. "You're among the stragglers, by now. Most women are arming themselves in their own homes."

"How much longer until we leave?" Krista asked, looking around. "A few hours, right?"

"Sooner," Dejah corrected. "Geneva wants us completely out of the area before the army attacks. We should begin leaving in just over an hour."

The "friends" had the grace to exchange an embarrassed (though slightly…goofy) look. This soon dissolved into a shared grin. "We'll only take a few minutes," Krista said. Her hand had been holding Miko's; she gave it a quick squeeze, then released him. "Last one ready is a sissy?"

Dejah wanted to watch them race off, playing and teasing and ignoring the weight of these moments, but she was distracted by a familiar face in the exodus. "Malek!" she called, turning away from the _khalan_ couple. "Malek, wait!"

The widowed spy came to a slow halt just before the wide door. Glancing around, Malek's eyes caught something else before finding Dejah. Malek nodded her recognition, then let herself be carried out of the busy exit.

Curious now, Dejah followed the other woman out of the armoury. "Malek," she said once more, when out of the room. "What are you doing here?"

The spy slowed until Dejah finally caught up with her. "They won't miss me in the palace today," she explained with her faintly off accent. "Not until we've stormed their defences, anyway. Cerile had me leave my post to join the main assault."

"Of course, that makes sense."

Malek smiled thinly. "There will be enough wounds after this battle without adding single attack-suicides to the mix. Besides, I doubt anyone here wants to give me the chance to prove untrustworthy. Sisters under Mujir, eh?"

"And paranoia under Geneva," Dejah finished. They shared a grin, Malek's a little more sincere than before.

"I suppose she has a reason." Malek glanced around, her face becoming sterner. "Mujir be with you tonight, sister."

"And with you, sister," Dejah echoed.

The widow shook her head. "I'm afraid I shall be far closer to Vengeance."

Dejah studied Malek closely. "When the blood has finished spilling, though—"

"This planet has stolen too much from me; I am growing weary of the heartache. Perhaps the blood will never stop. Not for me."

Dejah bit on her lip hard, her mind swirling with blood and prayers.

Malek seemed to notice, because she relented. "I am one among many, dear girl, and I am certainly not you. This is life." She paused, considering Dejah. Momentarily, she looked softer, lovelier, like a sister, or mother, or— "Mujir be with you this and every other night, sister," Malek told the younger woman.

—_or a beloved wife…_

Dejah shook hands with the spy, then watched as she disappeared into the crowd.

It was an example of this planet's very poor timing that Dejah only realized who she had spoken with when the "widow" was gone. "Veras Yd," she murmured, stunned. "Who— Veras!" she called over the crowd. "_Veras_! Wait! Braun is—" But Veras was long gone, swallowed by the crowd of fighters heading to war. "Larifx." Mujir, Veras Yd—alive, through all her husband's grieving; in the same predicament as Braun, even, calling herself a regretful widow and spy— But how? How could both have been so completely fooled?

Dejah shook her head. No, never mind all that, they could sort it out later. Where had she last seen Braun? Somewhere down the hall, perhaps, in one of the empty training rooms. If she could just find him again in this crowd, before the battle began and no one could think of anything else….

Picking one hallway on a hunch, Dejah walked quickly. She scanned the surrounding faces for Braun. He was taller than most of the people here, which should help, but— Oh, there he was, near the back of the crowd. "Braun!" she shouted for his attention.

He saw her, and even slowed down before he passed her. "Later, Dejah."

_Larifx_. She grabbed his arm before the crowd pulled him completely away. "It's _important_. Veras is—"

"Not. Now," he all but snarled. He yanked his arm free, and headed to war.

Dejah thought of chasing after him, pinning him down and _making_ him discover life-love-hope again, but there wasn't time. Instead, she only yelled, "Don't get yourself killed!" _You or your wife. Larifx, the two of you really are a pair_.

And then Dejah Salin gave herself over to the battle.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

As Mujir's Resistance went to war, they donned their veils for the last time.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jolesp Fig eyed the scene before him, and then nodded his satisfaction to Lera. "On my mark," he told his actors. "Ready, set…action."

Lera smiled thinly behind Jolesp. _Showtime_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The Resistance went through the anniversary crowds, gaining momentum with each moment.

And Prophecy began.


	110. Ch42: 777

**Chapter Forty-****Two: 777**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

[18:30]

-------

Mujir's Resistance marched on Quatroc. They marched through the lonely streets, then through the slowly occupied market, and finally right up to the gates of the Holy City. In every street, their numbers grew. Thousands of women—Quatroc women, and the ones who had been brought along for the festival. The MR fighters, of course, every one of them who could be in Quatroc. The priests' girls, the ones who took vows, and the ones who would have given up if not for their burning hatred. At the front of the veiled assembly rode Geneva and her leaders, with the Kavishka and the Klis girl just behind.

Not since before Rafintair's coronation had such a group of women passed the Holy City's walls.

On 777—Pucijir's triumphant anniversary—an army of them marched through the gates and into the courtyard. The four guards were no hindrance.

A feast had been set up in the enormous courtyard. Priests, fathers, husbands, sons, and brothers turned to see what was happening in their world.

When no more of Mujir's army could fit into the courtyard, Geneva Tal removed her veil. "The day has come," she proclaimed in a ringing voice, "for the injustices of Pucijir's Order to end. We are not leaving the centre of Pirese operations until the bloodthirsty emperor has been removed; until your murderous god and worse disciples have been debased. So say we all."

Every woman removed her veil.

The war began.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Fewer men fought than Miko had expected. At first, of course, most of them froze in shock, and stared as if the women charging had sprouted ten heads each. When the first wave of violence crashed upon them, many of the men simply ran, not resisting at all. More than a few men stood and joined the fighters. These men were quick to tear tie one of the discarded veils around their right arm. Then the battle hitched up a notch, and Miko stopped thinking about the men on NLY.

Rafintair's army was, of course, mostly on its rampage toward the MR headquarters, so they had a little time before the battle turned ugly. Until then, there were enough Holy Brothers and Pirese faithful to make this difficult.

_Maximum damage while you can_, he reminded himself as he launched into a group of infuriated Holy Brothers. Beyond them was the main entrance to the Pirese temple. If things didn't go according to plan (and when did they ever?), he and Krista had agreed that the temple could work just as well as Rafintair and his bodyguards.

Just about anything would do, today. Anything, so long as it progressed beyond what currently existed.

Miko fought for the future.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista fought because they had given her hat hair. Well, that and of course freedom and equality and blah, blah, blah. But she got _really_ mad because their veils gave her hat hair. And apparently they had something against her pretty blond hair; they kept trying to push it (and her) into the ground. Jerks.

Jerks, she realized with a frown, who had managed to surround her. How had she found her way into the middle of this one? Miko and Dejah, too, she noticed as she chanced a quick look around. Shouldn't they be advancing more quickly? Prophecy, and all?

Well, at least she wasn't _bored_. That'd be worse. Probably. Unless she could not have the hat hair, then maybe…

Her eye caught something seconds after the Force spiked in warning. "Oh, no, kriff it—" She had to sidestep, then duck, and lash out once, twice, behind her again. Another few side steps, and some fancy footwork besides, however, and she had the perfect (or workable) spot to shoot one of Miko's attackers in…the shoulder. She scowled as the man (one of the priests, maybe? He had training) snarled and kept fighting. Kriff.

That was four guys focused on Miko, and all of them in close quarters. Completely unacceptable. Krista _always_ had the most dance partners at the parties. Certainly more than Miko had.

It took her a few minutes to get closer and dig something pointy (she liked the long dagger Dejah had lent her) into the back of one of the closest Pirese guy. "Can I cut in, boys?" She smiled brightly when Miko and two of the bad guys turned to look at her. "Hi!" she chirped, then twisted the knife in the one guy, who was still (barely) standing upright. He fell over. Boys—no stamina.

"I can handle this, Kris," Miko said. They had to all but shout to be heard properly by each other.

She took a blow to her shoulder, grimaced, and kicked her attacker. "I don't care how much you think you've changed, Miko. You aren't ready for a foursome."

"I blush _once_, and get saddled with a bodyguard? How is that fair?" He grunted; he swung his lightsaber at one priest's middle.

"Well, throw in a prophecy of doom, and you'll be stuck with me forever. You haven't had any of—" she kicked out at a man behind her, "those, have you?" Two down, now, but Krista's current dancing buddy was being…annoying. Stubborn. Stubborn streaks were unforgivable in a man, as far as Krista was concerned. Well, except for Miko. But he was just so _cute_ when he indulged in the stubborn nature he had inherited from his master.

_Oh, gods. No. Not cute. Not—_

Generally speaking, it wasn't a good idea to take one's eyes off one's opponent mid-battle. It was, like, dangerous and stuff. But someone distracted Krista, so it wasn't really her fault.

She didn't notice at first, fighting bad guys and trading barbs (okay, flirting) with Miko as she was. But eventually, a certain MR fighter came close enough to nearly stumble into Krista. More than "nearly" stumbled, actually, as she sprawled and caused Krista to momentarily lose her balance. "It's too early to be drinking mid-battle," the blonde said as she tried to repair the damage. "Are you ok— _Veras_?" Which was when she stopped focusing on her sword-bearing opponent. Or looking at him, even. Instead, Krista stared at Braun's not-dead wife. "We thought you were… Does Braun know—? Oh my gods. How—"

"Krista!"

The blonde's attention snapped back to the fight at Miko's panicked cry. "Whoops," she muttered, just as a sword came hurtling toward her head.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The emperor had three daughters for the anniversary's sacrifice. He supplemented the number with four women who had long been under vows. Each of them had some royal blood—Pucijir deserved the best; it was the only reason Rafintair ever regretted his lack of daughters.

The emperor bestowed upon the others a feral smile. "Bring in our Executioner."

Gru'loq Whilem's son was more green than not, but the family had a tradition. Gantik had been raised for this. Pucijir appreciated family loyalty. Gantik was the right choice for today.

They built a fire in the centre of the chamber, where the greedy flames would be able to lick at the bare feet of the sacrifices. None of them were quite stupid enough to flinch away from the heat. Well, not yet. Rafintair had seen more than a few sacrifices change their mind. And there was always one who fought at the last moment. Despite these whimpers and winces, Mujir hadn't made any significant struggle in years. Not since the traitor, Jarran Klis, even—although the daughter's bloodiness had been irritating.

At midnight, these women would die—the finale of an hours-long, centuries-old tradition. Fire and exorcism and prayers and power…and Mujir's final death.

He looked around him at the Holy Brothers and sacrifices before his eyes settled on the Executioner. "Let us begin."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista dropped to the ground, but even that and her twist to the side only just avoided decapitation. The blade glanced off her right shoulder—and before she could formulate another plan, a second attacker joined the first, and another defensive move couldn't stop a sword from going through her left shoulder. She gasped at the pain, and couldn't stop a small cry. "Force damn—" She had been rising to her feet, but stumbled and fell now. The dagger fell from her left hand as she struggled to get past the pain.

Before she could summon her strength, a blur of Veras darted between Krista and her attackers. Miko-blur joined Veras-blur only seconds later. Miko's blue lightsaber flashed several times, and by then Krista's eyes were just wide enough that she could make out details like his floppy red hair and worried blue eyes when he crouched in front of her.

"You have to get back up," he insisted, shouting to be heard over the chaos. Then, almost belatedly except he was too worried for her to believe that, "Are you alright?" He stood again, pinning one eye on the mêlée. Veras stayed close, fighting but aware enough not to trip over them.

"Ow," Krista said, weakly trying to pass it off as a joke.

He didn't hear her, but must have grasped the basic concept; he tried to summon up a grin. He helped Krista to her feet, and manoeuvred her left arm close to her body. "Can you manage?"

She was about say to say _of course_, but then the army arrived, and women started dying.

Of course Krista could manage. And she'd do it with an eye chained to Miko. She was getting used to it.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar was pretty sure that Kyp was deliberately getting in the way of her attackers. Granted, his devotion was sort of…sweet, but Sanar _did_ have a lightsaber. She even mostly knew how to use it. He could justify being the one to finish people off because of the Sildar, but otherwise he had to leave her some of the fighting. They ought to have a long talk about that—later, of course. But still.

They were almost to the front of the palace now, along with Braun and Geneva. The emperor's last line of outside defence was more than a handful of Pirese priests and adepts, while the army pushed from behind. Eventually, even Kyp had to focus on his own fight. Sanar felt it immediately.

Kyp's borrowed lightsaber allowed her to cause maximum damage, but Holy Brothers were neither cowardly nor incompetent in the face of pain. The lightsaber cauterized wounds, which made it less messy. The men who fought against Sanar Klis quickly deduced that—as unpractised as she was with her dangerous blade—numbers were a useful equalizer. Sanar fixed her eyes on the palace—_Rafintair and Prophecy and her fate waited_—and kept fighting.

She aimed Kyp's lightsaber higher and drew it longer—as long as she could without harming herself. Two went down in front of her—a decapitated head bounced, and another man died just as quickly with his chest cut open. Three more took their place, and one of them was behind her. She kicked out at the one more to her right, and skipped to avoid a sword's arc at her left leg. It more than nicked her anyway, but Sanar grit her teeth and pulled strength from every one of Horaire's beatings.

_Niftyax_, he had named her.

_Niftyax_, she snarled in agreement, and fought harder.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Isra waited in the shadows just outside the Holy of Holies. If Rafintair saw her even here, he would probably have a fit—she wasn't even supposed to know where it was. The emperor's former favour had been crushed by his resentment that she had not fought tooth and nail to avoid Gaffil's plans for her. Of course, if he did for some reason come out, Isra would take it upon herself to start the Kavishka's work, and finish Gaffil's plot…whatever the cost she would most certainly have to pay.

Isra could do that.

The spy thought she might rather that the Kavishka come and prove Mujir true once and for all.

Isra waited.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When Kyp struck down his immediate opponent, he took a step back, and realized that he had fought his way to the front door of Rafintair's castle. He darted back into the fray for a moment (or several) to help bring Sanar through the entrance. They made a mess of Pirese devotees and blood between them. The Sildar killed each of Sanar's surrounding opponents.

_Good blood vengeance_, the Sildar whispered, but it was different now.

It was different because: _Shut up a bit, would you?_ Kyp demanded. _I'm trying to concentrate_. And the Sildar…listened.

The Sildar listened, and sank deeper into Kyp so that it no longer felt foreign and awkward. Nothing—not even Kyp's hands—burned as he fought with the Sildar. Not this time.

_I love you_, Sanar had told him. And the Sildar had believed her.

The Kavishka fought for vengeance and retribution and long-repressed violence, but more than a small part of Kyp Durron was still savouring Sanar's confession.

_I love you_.

And this time he thought she might not even run. Well, much. Okay, _comparatively_. He would make it work.

First, though, Rafintair. Kyp had struggled to put everything ahead of himself since Carida; he could do it for one more night.

When he pulled Sanar into the palace, Kyp caught sight of a group of people—Geneva and Braun among them—turning a corridor in the distance. He was pretty sure Geneva was supposed to wait for him; he was also completely certain that Geneva Tal didn't believe a word of Prophecy. She wasn't thinking about the Kavishka right now.

Kyp and Sanar raced down the hallway while the others could still be followed. Kyp wondered absently what Prophecy would do if he simply got lost and couldn't find Rafintair in time. Wouldn't that be an anti-climatic ending to 777? Perhaps he would get a time extension? Would there be late fees?

"You could try concentrating," Sanar interrupted his thoughts. She was uninjured as far as he could see, but blood had sprayed across her face, and smeared on her knuckles. As the couple began to slowly close the gap between them and Braun, she pushed back the sweaty hair that had escaped her ponytail. The grin she sent him, however, was as teasing as any of the good moments of _before_, but brighter. He could have kissed her right then and there.

"What?" he said, breathing a little harder than he'd like to admit. "Concentrate, and finish this in three minutes? Where's your sense of the dramatic?"

"Hurry up," Braun snapped over his shoulder. He had finally looked back to see who was following, and had slowed his pace a little so that they could catch up. "Right now? Not a great time for flirting. Try later."

Sanar rolled her eyes, and ran faster. Kyp followed her lead.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Isra waited. Waited as Geneva approached and gave her a cursory look. Waited as the others sketched their plan a last time. Waited as her leader turned to pin her with a hard, expectant stare

Isra waited for the Kavishka.

When he came, he was shorter than she had expected. She had built the Kavishka up almost as a giant in her mind (Gaffil would laugh at her if he knew). His colouring wasn't Na'Lein, though his hair colour was close to that of the Jir brothers. His eyes were very green, a shade she hadn't seen before. A familiar woman ran beside him—Sanar Klis, even, Isra realized with a start. How unexpected.

"Isra," Sanar gasped as she came to a halt in front of her. "Larifx. How are you?"

"If your boy succeeds, wonderful," Isra replied, eying the Kavishka. "So ask me in the morning." To Isra's amusement, she had read the situation correctly; Sanar flushed, but did not protest about the Na'Lein saviour being "her boy." How _very_ unexpected.

"I'll do my best not to disappoint you," the Kavishka said in a foreign accent. "But then perhaps you should let us in?"

Isra smiled, her eyes gleaming, and nodded. "I…" and she thought briefly of Gaffil, "present the key to your confrontation with Rafintair."

Gaffil's key was lighter than the original, but it had hung heavy against her breast every moment since Gaffil's death. Finally, she was able to remove it from her neck. The key was made of clay, but redder in colour than it really should be. Isra preferred not to think about why.

She freed her neck of the chain, and caught the key in her full grip. When she lined it up properly, it clicked in place.

Isra inhaled deeply. She remembered Gaffil, and prayed the Mujir-damned warftha hadn't been stupid enough to play her this one last time.

And then she turned the key.

The door opened just a little. Enough. "I give you Rafintair," she told the Kavishka. Then Isra left to rejoin her sisters.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Silence fell as Rafintair gave Gantik Whilem the sacred dagger. Gantik glanced at it nervously. It occurred to him that he recognized it—this was almost definitely the dagger Sanar had used to kill Horaire. A blade for killing the innocent and the executioner, he thought. And executioner_s_?

Possibly.

"We begin with the markings," Rafintair intoned. "To portray these unworthy as what they could be with Pucijir."

Markings. Gantik wondered if Sanar appreciated how she had "marked" Horaire with a sacred knife in the heart. He wondered how—or if—Rafintair had considered the irony.

"Purify the weapon, High Priest." Rafintair gestured to Ethin, the priest who had replaced Horaire.

Gantik decided he would kill this man the same way Sanar had Ethin's predecessor. Gantik held the dagger, flat on his palms, closer to his future victim.

Ethin's eyes fairly glowed in anticipation—this was only his second go at this. His fervid devotion still outshone his arrogance, if only by a little. He raised his arms, slightly slanted over Gantik and the dagger. "Your markings, Pucijir," the priest proclaimed. "May the women be worthy of them. May your fist be with Your Executioner this holy night."

Gantik bowed just as he was supposed to, but deference was the last thing in his heart. When he came back up, it was to push the dagger right through Ethin's heart. "So say we all."

Ethin died more quickly than Horaire had. His face hadn't even changed from shock to fury before he fell. Rafintair's expression did.

And then Sanar and the Kavishka were there.

-------

[22:27]


	111. Ch43: Waiting Hands

**Chapter Forty-Three: Waiting Hands**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

…_Their courage__  
Was great but all wasted: they could hack at Grendel__  
From every side, trying to open__  
A path for his evil soul, but their points__  
Could not hurt him, the sharpest and hardest iron__  
Could not scratch at his skin, for that sin-stained demon__  
Had bewitched all men's weapons, laid spells__  
That blunted every mortal man's blade.__And yet his time had come, his days  
Were over, his death near; down__  
To hell he would go, swept groaning and helpless  
To the waiting hands of still worse fiends_.

~ "The Battle with Grendel," Beowulf – author unknown; translated by Burton Raffel

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Dejah fought for freedom. The best and the worst of her home collided now; death surrounded her, and so did her sisters. And Teigra—Teigra was right behind her, almost back-to-back with her as they fought.

There was blood—so _much_ blood—but Dejah had to believe that it was worth it. That they were fighting because this could change for the better. (Dejah already knew it could change for the worse.)

Dejah fought for their souls.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Braun knew immediately that they had walked into more than expected. The spy's information had suggested there would only be a small retinue of Holy Brothers, along with Gantik, Rafintair and the High Priest. Barely enough for MR's party of seven to share. Instead, Braun estimated the Holy Brother's number to be at _least_ fifty.

When they first entered the enormous chamber, the Na'Lein emperor and his goons were focused on the form of one Gantik Whilem. It took Braun half a second to even recognize the man—standing tall in front of a fresh corpse, Gantik looked terrified and defiant…almost, bizarrely heroic.

Pucijir's concentration quickly shifted onto the intruders. Rafintair's lips curled in a smug snarl. "I was beginning to think you would be too late to put up a decent fight, Kavishka. As you can see, I have been ready for some time now."

Kyp's expression was stony. "It appears so."

Rafintair laughed outright. "My, Klis certainly picked a confident one, didn't he?" The emperor visibly took notice of Sanar standing next to the Kavishka. "Well, at least you managed _that_ part in time. She's still as bloody as ever, though, isn't she? But perhaps easier with selling her services—you are the one who killed her father, are you not? Before, that might have been a deterrent."

Sanar looked ready to tear Rafintair apart. Braun tightened his grip on his borrowed sword. Including Gantik, they had eight fighters against the fifty or sixty Holy Brothers. Oh, at best, they also had the sacrifices—so fifteen—but four of those were little more than children, and the other three (teenagers, really) had the dead-crazy eyes of beings who couldn't be trusted to do anything but cause death. They would kill others, and then kill themselves in a very short time span. Braun made a note of their faces, and then set his sights on getting the children out first.

"I'm afraid your father looked far more convincing, _niftyax_." Rafintair spoke to Sanar for the first time. "You have a little less than two hours to prove me wrong. You _do_ know about your midnight deadline, don't you?"

The Holy Brothers charged.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista and Miko weren't the only ones aiming for the temple. It was a popular destination of destructive choice. Hundreds of women were obvious in their intent to charge on the Pirese priests. The palace would take forever, with its thousands of rooms and more or less harmless—sometimes relatively innocent—servants. The main temple, though….

Miko fancied the ones at the front of this attack group were the dead-eyed vow girls. Quatroc women, whose hatred was most directed at the insult on top of the injuries of an unjust system.

When a crack formed in the temple's defences, these women split it wide open. Krista and Miko went along for the bloody ride. Miko lost sight of first Veras and then Dejah in the chaos. He made even more of an effort to stay close to Krista, just in case. She reciprocated.

Other than these observations and decisions, very few conscious thoughts made their way through Miko Reglia's mind. There was only instinct and _strike, duck, thrust, parry_ and the Force.

As blood flowed.

A lifetime ago, this violence could just as easily have become a blood rage as Miko let the Dark side use him to unleash suffering. There had been skirmishes and small battles since then, but as part of Intel he had avoided bloodbaths such as these.

The temptation remained, and even a careless moment might push him closer, but Miko stayed strong. _That_ part of him had been firmly banished.

(It helped that this was a cause Miko could fight without railing against the Light's hypocrisy. Thick, black lines between right and wrong, here.)

Krista fought beside him; he enjoyed the new constant. But he was still fighting, and Krista wasn't the only one there. There were all the fighters—women and men—and there were the soldiers, priests, adepts, and Holy Brothers. Miko fought through them all. It all came down to instinct now, and more so every minute.

When they poured through the temple doors en masse, the triumph every Na'Lein woman felt became part of the very oxygen. He breathed it in, shared and revelled in it. Miko fought with them.

They charged through the entrance; at least sixty men waited in the enormous hall. The addition of MR fighters and Pirese soldiers soon made the hall crowded, a place that seemed too small for the events it now housed. Miko and Krista shared a look, and continued forward with purpose rather than allowing themselves to be caught up in the immediate battle. There were more priests and Holy Brothers than this, not to mention the women who doubtlessly required help before they could join the fight.

Miko fought to give justice for those ready to take it.

(But he also kept an eye on Krista. If push came to shove…the immediate choice would be obvious.)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

As midnight approached, the Sildar paused—and Prophecy began its long-awaited, secret twist.

Everything has an equal and opposite reaction.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Arelyk sat next to Lera as if he was approaching not his best friend, but rather a planet on the brink of destruction. "I heard," he told her. His face was solemn, and his eyes unusually grave.

Lera had been picking at her lunch while Jolesp and Hasi haggled over the execution of the holo-film's final scene. Nichyn, sitting across the dinner table from Lera and Arelyk, raised his eyebrows in apparent ignorance. Well, at least he hadn't told Arelyk anything about Devnos in an unexpected burst of male loyalty.

"About?" Lera asked. Immediately after, a suspicion wormed its way into her mind. She really hoped this wasn't about—

"Your parents." Arelyk squeezed her shoulder. "I'm sorry."

Lera's mind went blank. "O-oh." Her fork clattered free of her numb fingers. She scrambled to pick it up again. "Um. Oh. Um. Y-yeah. Y-y-you h-heard?"

Under the table, Nichyn gently knocked her foot with his. A quieter apology. _I'm here_. She nudged his foot back. It helped her regain some of her mental faculties.

"Mom left. That's what you heard?" she asked. She said it very fast, more like _Mumlefty'heard_ than real words, because she had been doing a very good job of not thinking about any of it. Surrounding herself with thoughts of doom, gloom, and manipulative Prophecy had its benefits.

Arelyk nodded. Friendship and the warmth of a home fire embraced her through the Force. She flushed, and then wondered if he could sense the difference that Devnos and Prophecy had inspired. She wondered if he could sense Devnos, or if the ghost had retreated far enough back to stay hidden.

"She isn't coming back this time," Lera confessed. It hurt on a physical level. She couldn't quite meet Arelyk's eyes.

A familiar, foreign feeling in her mind—Devnos, reaching out in comfort this time, rather than in their camaraderie against Prophecy. Lera shuffled her foot against Nichyn's.

"Why did you change your mind about the holo-film's ending?" Nichyn asked. His intent was transparent, but Arelyk and Lera allowed it with relief. No one wanted to talk about the inevitable _D_-word.

"It's a lot darker than the original," Arelyk agreed. "From a happy ending to a character death?"

"A hero's death," Lera corrected. "I-I know. It just—just felt right. More…real." All _too_ real. And familiar, though the stakes were still higher in life.

Nichyn's eyes turned stormy. Arelyk, still in the dark, frowned. "Not always."

Lear smiled genuinely for the first time that day. "N-no, not always. Force willing."

She could hear Devnos' echoing prayer in her head.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The temple was a madhouse; Krista knew blood, and battle cries (screams), and Miko, and little else. The tide pushed her forward and to the side, though, so Krista grabbed Miko's bloody hand in hers and pulled him with her. They fought together through the maelstrom of revolution.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

(_Do you remember when the messen—your brother scribed the Kavishka prophecy? You adored it, and professed your love for the hero. You even wanted Devnos to write you into the story_.)

Sanar had dreamed of this night every moment since her father's death. She hasn't expected her father's killer to be here, she hadn't expected _Durron_ to be the Kavishka, and she certainly hadn't expected to fall in love with him.

_(You were written into Prophecy. You must love him, or he will be judged unworthy of the Sildar_.)

And of course, she hadn't expected a little girl to write to her in Devnos' handwriting, either. But Sanar made sure to shield that thought with everything her father had left her. She didn't even dare think about LeraDevnos' message unless the unbelievable came true.

_Right, so stop thinking about it. Better things to worry about. Like: duck_.

Sanar fell to a crouch, feeling a sick lurch as she only just missed a dagger thrown at her head. Bad enough she had four Holy Brothers crowding her; now they were throwing daggers? _Okay, definitely better things to worry about_.

Far more definite, more immediate things. So Sanar kept her eyes and mind on her own opponents. She didn't even watch Durron. No time for that.

Durron's lightsaber swirled faster in her hands than she had ever expected. Swirled—quicker, more accurately, more like a dance than her butcher's job on Horaire all those years ago. (_Niftyax_, he called her.) She moved quickly—but the Holy Brothers weren't dying at the same speed, and there were so _many_ of them around Rafintair.

They had until midnight. When they had found Rafintair, it was with an hour and a half buffer. How little of that was left?

_No time to think about the time limit, either_, so Sanar fought even harder, trying to keep up with her opponents. Submersed in her fighting zone, she only just felt a dimming in the Force—one of the fighters had been killed.

_No time for a prayer_.

Sanar fought, and it was harder than she had dreamed as a child.

(This was better, in its own way. Sanar hoped the Sildar realized that.)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When Krista couldn't make quips anymore, she knew it was bad. And maybe "bad" didn't quite cover it. She and Miko had left the entrance hall in search of one of the ignored fights—and they hit the mother load.

The temple had a _prison_ inside. A prison full of long-term inmates, mad-eyed women who looked like they wanted death and not much else.

(Sanar killed the High Priest, didn't she? Had _this_ been where they kept her? Or had they acted more quickly? More—and ironically—mercifully?)

There were guards, too, of course. Holy Brothers—an original dozen of them, and more coming all the time. And then there was Krista and Miko, standing on top of the powder keg. This was so very not the time for quips.

(Gallows humour, maybe. Did she have time for—)

The guards landed powerful blows every time. (Landed and powerful. Every. Starsdamned. Time.) No stamina jokes for this fight—and even cracks about steroids or eating breakfast wheaties didn't help. Krista wasn't good enough with a sword for this to be funny. She was quick—sometimes (a lot of the time) only just quick enough. She had to take her eye off Miko. On top of the two eyes she had, she needed ones in the back of her head, and every extra advantage that she had ever played off, or ignored in favour of traits helpful in Intel (_look pretty, smile sweet, little liar-flirt-thief_).

Another fighter found the cells. Another, soon after—but that one died as quickly as she had been shoved into the room. Then a third, fourth, fifth came, and someone killed the guard who had the cell keys, and the prisoners were loose and killing. They weren't women anymore; just insanity and hatred. They helped in their crazy, bloody way, but Krista watched them only a little less closely than she did the guards.

She and Miko were dancing in a pool of gasoline, and each of them had struck a match. No wonder—

(_no wonder Niha and Sanar prophesied death_)

_No time_. More Holy Brothers, and onetwothree prisoners died—one of the sane fighters, too. More of the latter came; so did a priest, and more men (many for Pucijir's Order; one for the Resistance). Death danced among them; Krista could almost smell gas as she pushed to _fightsavesurvive_—

A fighter (corpse) fell into her, and Krista was finally thrown too far off balance to be _just barely quick enough_ and they struck that injured shoulder she had been trying to forget about, and she was _fallingdownfalling_ and she lost her sword and a dagger wasn't really that much help and she couldn't find her blaster and _oh gods she was going to die_ and—

Miko saved her life.

Only a moment later, he fell bleeding next to her.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The Sildar, one should remember, shaped itself into a sword to be a useful, physical weapon. Its true form was that of millions of victims demanding vengeance. (Vengeance is not justice, recall. Vengeance is as selfish as a child thwarted.)

Many of these victims were women. Many of these women were stripped of their power by men. In accordance to Prophecy's strategy, these women agreed to a Kavishka: a man chosen to make up for other men's wrongdoings.

Kyp Durron was not the Kavishka they had been promised.

This is something to remember: the reality is never the same as the theory.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Alright, are we all ready?" Jolesp clapped his hands together gleefully. "I am _so_ ready."

Lera stared at him from her spot at the dinner table. Her face was pale; the strength of her reaction confused her, when she thought of it. Her heart had lodged itself in her throat—pounding, swelling, keeping her breath captive as long as possible.

(_Ready?_

_Yes._

_Never_.)

Jolesp swept his arms wide open. He always got excited before filming the climatic scenes of his holo-films. Lera usually enjoyed them, too, when Hasi and Zuleika got them right.

"We have a death scene to film!" Jolesp hadn't filmed one of Lera's protagonist deaths before; it had been an enormous piece missing from his happiness.

Lera felt sick. Arelyk's mother, who had dropped by to see the filming of this scene, watched her with concern. Nichyn had had all week to build up a worry level that made Shanya's look unaffected, and he displayed it now.

"Places, everyone!"

Oh, yes. Places. Lera moved into position, and thought of Prophecy. She followed Jolesp into the filming studio (Nichyn and Shanya and now even Arelyk didn't remove their eyes), and she thought of Sanar.

_Devnos?_

_I'm right here._

_Did Sanar get the message?_

For a terrible moment, there was only the pounding of her heart.

_Yes, she did_.

Lera had always (only ever) wanted to do the right thing.

Lera Verili moved into position.


	112. Ch44: Prophecy's Secret

**Chapter Forty-Four: Prophecy's Secret**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"_It is not in the stars to hold our destiny but in ourselves_."  
~William Shakespeare

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Gantik Whilem forged himself anew in the battle against Rafintair. He refused to leave the Holy of Holies as the same man. As was becoming typical of his life's changes, Sanar Klis was the cataclysm.

(Thanks to Kyp Durron, of all people, he now knew what she looked like when in love. He even knew what she looked like when she had been loved. It burned, but it—no, that couldn't matter anymore.

Sanar Klis always changed his life.)

In this battle, Gantik killed a lot of his father's comrades. Those he had not grown up around were familiar through the late Executioner's introductions. Gru'loq's son fought next to Geneva as the Holy Brothers fell. (Geneva more often than not did not cover his back the way he did hers. She had never liked him much.) He knew the anger, the disgust they felt when they looked at him. These men were a shadow of how his father would have reacted, had he survived to see this.

Gru'loq Whilem would have hated even more what his son did next. He really hadn't liked Sanar.

(It always came down to Sanar.)

Holy Brothers were swarming on Sanar, not too far from where Gantik fought. Maybe Rafintair had told the Holy Brothers how important Sanar was to Kyp Durron. Maybe they remembered her for murdering their High Priest. Either way, Sanar's chosen hero was too busy with Kavishka business to help her.

(Sanar, Gantik thought spitefully, really could pick them.)

Gantik left Geneva's back to help his once friend. His choice saved her life—only moments later, he was seriously injured in her place. In recognition of his help, she pushed him to the sidelines, and then led the fight away from him.

(Also: further from Kyp Durron. Gantik wouldn't think of it until later.)

Gantik Whilem would leave the Holy of Holies a different man.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista was surrounded by dead bodies. Fighters, priests, Holy Brothers, adepts, maids…so many, all dead. When her last opponent gave its final shudder, she came back to herself and was more concerned about the one person still breathing. Her knees wobbled as she slowly made her way to his side. She crouched—then had to sit down properly, on her knees, because she couldn't keep her balance otherwise. But she sat next to him; she could take his hand and watch his dim eyes.

She swallowed, opened her mouth: nothing came out.

_Nothing. Came. Out_. She choked, tightening her grip on his hand and sliding closer to him. Finally—"M-Miko."

He blinked at her, very slowly. "Kris," he said. Rough and breaking, it came out only with great effort. "Hey."

Still alive. She could look at his injuries now—they weren't as bad as she had first thought—he was still alive, after all—but that chest wound continued to bleed.

(_So much blood_.)

Her eyes had respected her mascara for a while now; she felt salt water start to defy it. "No," she told him, recovering her voice. "N-no, see, you—you _can't_, so—oh, hells." She wiped her eyes dry with almost brutal movements. Her eyes stung, but she kept them clear. It wouldn't happen. He wouldn't—and so there was no damn need for those, and she wouldn't—she just couldn't cry. Couldn'tshouldn'twouldn't.

(_Krista, I know at least one person will never leave this planet alive_.

It should have been her.)

Miko's hair really was too bright for his face. It kept getting darker and darker red over the years, but his skin was always too pale or too tanned and it had always looked a little silly on him. No freckles to stand out on the pale now—she wondered if he had ever had them as a kid. His lips stood out, very bright. Unlike his hair, though, this vibrancy suited his skin. She had never kissed him.

Oh, stars. Krista stared at his lips, feeling dizzy. She hadn't even kissed him. She hadn't even said—and—oh, _stars_.

"Hey." Miko's breathing rattled a little, but he shook her hand to bring her attention back to him.

Kriff. Okay. So now she remembered why she didn't like messy things like love. _Great. Wonderful. Good for you, Harif. Now focus_. She cleared her throat, shook her head. She concentrated on his face, and didn't think about childhoods or lips or futures. Just the _right now_. "I-I can—I can—" She inhaled deeply, and bent her will on doing it properly. "Jedi healing stuff," she enunciated carefully. "You need to tell me how to help you with them. Then you'll be all better and—" Her voice broke, so she moved along. "So, how?"

His muddled blue eyes tried to concentrate on her. They slipped around the room; she grimaced, and turned his eyes back to her. There was a lot of death in this room. One didn't have to be a Jedi to cause heavy damage with a lightsaber. Krista had had help from the fighters for a while, but—oh, he didn't need to see any of this. Not now. They could talk about it later.

He let her distract him. Slowly, fumblingly, he talked her through a technique that gave his cheeks more colour and his voice more clarity. When she sat back, face now slick with sweat as well as blood, Miko struggled to grin at her. It crumpled too quickly into a grimace. Krista's throat clenched. "Thank you," he said.

Her breath gusted out in relief. "You'll be okay," she said.

(Krista didn't really care about mystics and faith and crap. She believed in what she could see, touch, feel.

Krista prayed: _Miko will be okay_.)

Miko's eyes evaded hers. "Kris—"

"No," she insisted. Her voice rose in panicked pitch. "No, you'll be _fine_. You can't—"

His eyes were a little brighter than before, with a little more of their usual warmth and gentleness and _Miko_. "No death. Just—just the Force. You know…that."

The tears thumbed their nose at mascara, and made their escape. She used her free hand to scrub them away, but they were replaced just as quickly. "But y—you _can't_." Her fingers useless against the salt water, she tugged them over her hair, sticking the frizzing strands back together. "I won't let you."

He was still so weak, even with that stupid strengthening technique that she had sweated herself into clumsily making. She could feel the conversation draining him—_there_, in that little bright spot of her friend where he kept getting stronger over the years. Despite that, he tightened his grip on the hand he held. He reached up for the one she had kept from him. She threaded her fingers through his. There were still flecks of blood on them. "'m sorry," he murmured.

"You're…" She blinked at him, then found herself flinching back as if he had struck her. "No, just—_damn you_, Miko. D'you hear me? You are not allowed to die. You just _aren't_, so—" There were more tears (any other time she would have wondered how mere soap would clean her face after this, but: Miko). Surprising even herself, she freed her hands from his. She cupped his face in them, and leaned close, sprinkling hard, desperate kisses along his jaw, nose, eyes, _lips_. "Please don't," she said. It was weak, practically a whimper, but she didn't _care_. "I love you," she whispered somewhere between his chin and his neck. "I love you, I love you, IloveyouI—"

His fingers slid loosely around her neck, and he fumbled with her ponytail. (It was an absolutely gross ponytail—sticky, sweaty, bloody, and _stars_, even the worst date warranted washing her hair. What was _this_?) She looked up, still close, and bit her lip. His eyes were getting brighter now—too bright with pain, though she hoped for at least some joy. "I'm sorry," he repeated numbly. He was shaking now—she didn't know when it had started, but the shudders were getting harder with the cold, the pain. Was he sinking into shock? "Sorry I—that I—hurt you—didn't mean to…"

The shaking continued, but his head lolled in her cradling hands. The shudders became twitches. His breathing slowed, skipped turns. She had to look away, retreat before he died right on her watch, right in her arms. She muddled her movements, sprawled across the stone floor. She couldn't get up.

Surrounded by the dead and dying, Krista Harif just couldn't get up.

Not yet, not this time.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kyp Durron could feel each diminished second as they raced toward Prophecy's deadline. _Tick-tick-tick_ as the end closed in around them, crushing them under destiny. He had walked in with Sanar, Braun, Geneva, Gantik, and a handful of fighters. Braun had smuggled out three children, and returned to fight alongside the four remaining sacrifices. The latter group of women were all dead; half of the fighters were dead or dying; Gantik and Braun had both been injured—and still _tick-tick-tick_. It sounded almost like the Sildar again, but this voice was growing angrier instead of more agreeable.

The Sildar's voices were growing quieter; they no longer demanded so loudly. A distance had grown between the Kavishka and his weapon. (That wasn't right, was it? This couldn't be how it was meant to be, could it?)

When that _tick-tick-tick_ told him that there was only twenty minutes left, Kyp became desperate. Instead of fighting to kill, he spread his strikes widely and indiscriminately, anything to push the Holy Brothers aside so that he could reach Rafintair.

(Part of him stayed with Sanar—but there was so _little_ time, and he couldn't think too much about anything else, not even his lover.

_Partners_, he had told her. He had promised they would fight together. He had to trust Sanar to take care of herself. Clayra wasn't here to hinder Sanar's well-honed survival instincts.)

There was more blood, more bodies, more Holy Brothers at his back (_never turn your back on an enemy_), but finally Rafintair stood before him.

"Oh, good," the emperor said. His eyes gleamed. "Jarran Klis couldn't even get this far."

Then Kyp had a problem, because there were a dozen (more) Holy Brothers at his back, and Rafintair was charging, and Kyp Durron finally met his match.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Lera's fingers swiftly twirled a stylus as she watched Jolesp hammer out filming technicalities. She was surrounded by the business of others, but she felt detached from them all. She could feel Nichyn's eyes watching her, even from across the room. Shanya and Arelyk's gazes occasionally joined his. She fumbled the stylus, and only just caught it before it flew. _Is it time yet?_

Devnos was there, his anxiety matching her own. _Almost. Not quite yet_.

She gave Shanya, Arelyk and Nichyn each a quivering smile. She didn't try to reassure them that it would all be alright. She couldn't, not anymore.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The Sildar focused entirely on one goal: defeating Rafintair. It focused even with the _strangewrongwrongwrong_ Kavishka, and unleashed its havoc.

The Kavishka, however wrong, had succeeded in _this_ much, even if he had nearly run out of time first.

The victims had this much; the rest could wait.

_Give us his blood_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Every one of the Sildar's strikes was parried. Every one of Kyp's lunges was sidestepped. The Kavishka threw everything into this battle. _Everything_—surviving in the Kessel mines, training at the Academy, fighting in the Second Imperial War. Every instinct he had honed, every trick and strategy he had ever added to his sizable collection. Although mixing the Force with the Sildar could bring worrisome results, he opened his connection as wide as he could with Vengeance breathing down his neck.

He used everything—and so did the emperor. If Gaffil had fought with tricks and cunning, Rafintair used sheer power—something he clearly had in spades. Kyp was by no means a small man, but Rafintair wielded great physical power to overcome the worst traps, and to force his opponent onto the defensive.

Nothing else existed except this fight here—for vengeance and survival, for the deaths and Kyp's own life. Kyp's heart pounded, drowning out all other sounds. He could only barely feel the _tick-tick-tick_ now, as if it were only absent-minded amidst _fight_ and _don't forget to breathe_.

In the back of Kyp Durron's mind, he knew that he could defeat this monster.

(_Rafintair Jir, I name thee: worst of the emperors, one who revitalized Pucijir's Order's most heinous practices, slaughterer of women and men alike_.)

He could absolutely do this. But it was a matter of time he no longer had and—

And eventually it had to happen. The dozen-and-more Holy Brothers he had left bleeding behind him got back to their feet and found their murderer. The Kavishka turned just for a second, because he _needed more time_ but he had to prevent these minor (major) distractions from stopping him. It would be temporary again, but _tick-tick-tick_ and he only turned away for a second but he could do this—

The Sildar got very quiet, and Kyp killed two Holy Brothers before the sick feeling in his gut had him looking for Rafintair.

He had only turned away for a moment. Now Rafintair was gone.

And then the Sildar screamed.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The Sildar's spirit only wanted Rafintair dead. It could have put up with a great deal—with the wrong Kavishka, even with a second-choice man—but it needed Rafintair.

Prophecy dictated the victims accept Kyp Durron. He met the most important requirements. The Sildar had to accept this Kavishka.

But they did not have to accept quietly.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

It didn't last long, but so much could happen in a moment. The Sildar screamed—_screamed and burned and ALL WRONG_—and turned on its replacement Kavishka. A moment—perhaps only a few seconds—but enough time to change (fit) destiny.

At his back Kyp had a dozen Holy Brothers, bloody and injured but still very much alive. The Sildar would kill them all—but their current wounds (poison) would do so slowly. They had time (Kyp had seven minutes). The Holy Brothers charged.

The Sildar's rejection nearly caused Kyp to drop his weapon, and a Holy Brother's heavy blow forced it that final bit from his slack fingers.

Six minutes before midnight, a Holy Brother was finally stupid enough to pick up the Sildar. Kyp kicked the fool's actual weapon free, and wielded it (quietly and painlessly) as someone else tried to use the Sildar.

The Holy Brother managed to pull the Sildar back in preparation for a blow to Kyp's head. It was more than some would manage. Before he moved any further, the Holy Brother's expression registered horror. Vengeance reached out from the depths. Seconds later, it was too late for screams as the Holy Brother's eyes (_and more_) bled. His fellow, surrounding Brothers paused to stare.

Five and a half minutes to midnight, the Holy Brother died.

Faintly, Kyp could hear the Sildar—_good, blood, we need Rafintair_. Whatever the Sildar's displeasure for his earlier failure, it was prepared to keep going for a while longer.

(_I love you_, Sanar had told him. The Sildar had to accept him, even if it might not like him.)

Before he could reach the Sildar, however, events took an unforeseen turn. A Holy Brother sacrificed himself to throw it across the chamber. (He died even faster than the first one.) Kyp felt his heart stop as he watched it land—so far away that it slid to a stop only a few metres from Sanar, on the other side of the hall. Rafintair, too, he could se now—not far enough away from Sanar as the emperor fought Geneva, but certainly too far from Kyp. Between the Kavishka and all he feared stood perhaps two dozen Holy Brothers, all very aware of his deadline.

Five minutes to midnight, the Kavishka failed.

And Prophecy turned.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Nichyn was the first to notice the change. Everyone else's eyes were glued to the filming studio, where the friendship of "Lacane" and "Saja"—Zuleika and Hasi's characters, respectively—was ending. It was the final scene, and both actresses were soaking it for every tear it was worth. They bickered, they quipped, they denied, but soon they were clinging to each other in the face of Saja's death. After all too many takes, Zuleika and Hasi were finally hitting the right notes.

_Don't leave me_, Lacane pleaded.

Nichyn was more focused on his own friend.

When Lera fell, Nichyn was the first to her side.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar was pretty sure her heart stopped altogether when the Sildar clattered near her feet. Had Kyp—? Was he—?

_No_.

No, no, not dead—she could feel him, see him now, fighting his desperate way through a score of Holy Brothers. He was being reduced to ruthless, brutal murders on his way to the Sildar, but she knew (_knew_ with absolutely _no doubt_) that he wouldn't make it before midnight. Prophecy had failed the instant Kyp lost hold of the Sildar. Sanar Klis and her Kavishka were going to die in the Holy of Holies—and she _had_ noticed that enough women had died here, tonight, to make a perfect Pirese sacrifice—and Pucijir's Order would survive for who knew how many more centuries. Everything would be left up to Mujir's Resistance, and if they lost tonight, as Prophecy failed— The Resistance would be decimated. It would take them decades to regain their proper strength.

As insult on top of injury, Sanar saw Rafintair casually pass Geneva—looking terrifyingly, furiously red—off to three Holy Brothers. As soon as Geneva was too busy to even watch her opponent dismiss her, the emperor detangled himself from the fight. He stood apart, surveying his carnage. When he saw her, Rafintair smirked and then looked away. Words from LeraDevnos' message came to her mind.

Suddenly, things became very, very clear for Jarran Klis' daughter.

She killed her three opponents with lightsaber moves stolen directly from Jaina's memory. There were three minutes until midnight.

(Three minutes. One hundred eighty seconds. Plenty of time, when things became this obvious.)

Sanar could have seen the Holy Brothers swarming triumphantly in the hall's centre, or continued to watch Rafintair's sneering. She could have noticed how Braun finally fell to the ground in exhaustion. The way Gantik's eyes were closing in a way she had once wished to see. Geneva's frustration—if Geneva fell, who would replace her? The corpses of her sister-fighters, or the ones who still fought because they couldn't do otherwise for even a second longer.

Instead, Sanar saw Kyp, fighting towards her—or to the Sildar?

Any other time, she might have heard the Holy Brothers yelling judgement, Rafintair condemning them all to death and the fiery pits of his hell, or even Kyp screaming for her to escape a battle they couldn't win.

Instead, Sanar heard Niha: _You were written into Prophecy. You must love him, or he will be judged unworthy of the Sildar_.

Sanar's gaze fell to the Sildar, only a metre away, then up to Kyp, and finally back to Rafintair.

Kyp couldn't reach Rafintair in time.

But Sanar could.

She thought of her sister, mother, brother…and always of her father. She thought of her sister-fighters—of Jaina, struggling through the hero's path with too little fear and too much suffering; of Veras, whom Sanar had brought to her death; of Dejah, who had lost all faith; of Isra, who had become a stranger. She thought of Horaire, and the Jirs.

Sanar thought of waking up this morning, reaching out for someone she shouldn't miss. She thought of that one night, and this evening, the worst possible time for love's confession.

Jarran Klis tried to raise a fighter; for a long time after his death, he had left only a survivor. A liar, a prostitute, a murderer, a slave—and a selfish girl? There had been Clayra, true, but no one else for years. Not until another sister brought the survivor into her heart.

Jaina Solo had resurrected the fighter—and Kyp Durron, of all the people in all the worlds, had brought the finishing touches.

Not waiting for her _survival first, maybe a few others later_ mentality to kick in, Sanar stood. She took one step and then another towards the Sildar and crouched next to it. Still just a metre away, Rafintair didn't even notice her as he crowed victory. Exactly as Sanar wanted it.

Somewhere, she could hear the Sildar beginning to panic; she ignored Its voices. Kyp must have heard them, though, because he froze and stared at her. She regretted that he had to watch.

_WHAT ARE YOU DOING?_ the Sildar screeched.

She thought of something Kyp had told her: _I love you. You don't have to say it. That's separate from Prophecy. But if, as the Kavishka, I need you, it doesn't have to be… I can't do this without you. You're a partner, not a strategy piece_. She remembered his words, and Devnos' warnings, and Niha's proclamations, and the Strings' shudders, and she knew this was right.

_**DO NOT DARE TOUCH—**_

The corners of Sanar's lips lifted briefly as she blocked out the Sildar's voices. No one but the Kavishka was supposed to touch the Sildar. She had seen the consequences of it herself—death. Horrifying, damning death. Even Kyp was affected by the Sildar's mindless demand for vengeance.

Sanar didn't touch it.

Sanar Klis grabbed the Sildar with both hands, and swung it as hard as her strength would allow.


	113. Ch45: Sanar Klis' Redemption

**Chapter Forty-Five: Sanar Klis' Redemption**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"_Show me a hero and I'll write you a tragedy_."  
~F. Scott Fitzgerald

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

No one but the Kavishka was supposed to touch the Sildar. Sanar had seen for herself the consequences—death. Horrifying, damning death. Even Kyp was affected by the Sildar's mindless demand for vengeance.

She didn't touch it.

Sanar Klis grabbed the Sildar with both hands, and swung it as hard as her strength would allow. She swung it until she felt her arms pop from their sockets; the Sildar swung around and bit her in the flesh of her back. Immediately she felt herself begin to…

(_crumble. fall apart._

she felt her end.)

And there Sanar found something for which she had been searching a long time, something few people attain:

Sanar Klis found her redemption.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

(Lera only ever wanted to do the right thing.)

Lera inhaled and then—_ohohohohoh_Force.

She tried to exhale, but that didn't work quite right, and then she stopped thinking.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar Klis held the Sildar for approximately thirty seconds, perhaps less than that. The Sildar does not discriminate between one second and one day, or between ally and enemy. All are exposed to the Sildar's wrath.

This is law, and truth.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When the end came, Jaina found it almost anti-climatic. Words exchanged, and not even the energy to cry. Zekk looked exhausted. She had woken only hours after her resurrection, but she suspected that in that interval he had been similarly worn out. Fighting your own dark side could take a lot out of a person. It really sapped a fiancée's energy, too, she thought with a grimace. She felt positively old as she straightened herself out from the pretzel-like way she had fallen.

Fiancée, she thought suddenly. But was it ex-fiancée now? She had given back the ring, of course, but… Oh, Force, she was definitely too tired for that. Watching Onyx bleed through—and take over—Zekk had been more than enough for one night.

The cause of Jaina's emotional exhaustion approached her warily. "Are you…?" He looked helpless. Like Zekk, though. Jaina suspected that tonight had seen the last of Onyx's lure, once and for all. That was something.

"I could use a nice long nap," she told him. She couldn't smile for him, and that _hurt_. When he held his hand out, she took it. That much, at least…. Sighing, she let him pull her to her feet.

He _did_ try for a smile, but it looked too grateful and too ashamed to not hurt even more than if he had admitted how very kriffed up they had become. "Jay, I—"

But then everything _hurt so godsdamned much_ and there wasn't a single place she didn't feel it and she doubled over (or had she collapsed completely? She couldn't _see think hear_ only feel pain) and screamed and

(_the River oh the River and_

it always called to her, every day and every moment, but

_**this was different**_

it screamed with her and pulled _demanded_ _**dragged**_ at her and its current caught her soul as

_Death whispered her name her name her_

oh and her soul _cried_ so)

(and Sanar was gonegonegone _forever_)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

For Kyp Durron's successful transformation as the Kavishka, he had to be loved by Sanar Klis.

This is law, and truth.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Devnos was there, and his pain—

_Just like her own. Oh…_

Lera wasn't aware of anything—not her friends' panic, or Shanya's desperation, or Nichyn's grim terror.

Lera only—

(_shh quiet_

_no just—but shhh_

_surrender just_

_quiet_

_surrender_)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The night turned as the battle's tide did.

A storm had been brewing for hours, slowly gaining momentum. Isra might not have noticed it except she escaped the palace's confines late, and had watched it escalate through the passing windows. When she had stepped onto the outside battleground, the tempest had blown her veil free. A lighter, weaker woman would have been blown off her feet. (Isra saw no such women here.)

At midnight, Mujir returned to her children.

Lightening split the sky and opened it to the goddess' dawn. For one glorious moment, Mujir's Resistance and Pucijir's Order saw the Mother Goddess' triumph before the sky returned to darkness. Isra would not have wondered if all the Holy Brothers' hearts simply stopped in fear.

They fought on (and Isra with them), but everything had changed.

First the Holy Brothers began dying very quickly. Then they divided into those who run, and those who turned on themselves.

The emperor was dead.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

For Prophecy to succeed, Sanar Klis must remain alive—and in love with the Kavishka—until destiny has run its course. Should either of these statuses change, then the Sildar will reject Kyp Durron.

This is law, and truth.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista shoulder wound was beginning to worsen. There could have been poison on the sword that cut her. Or maybe she was just tired. Everything was so much worse when she was tired.

Her knees wobbled—ten wobbles, at least, between each of Miko's breaths. (Unless she was imagining those.)

Krista felt so tired.

A Holy Brother tried to come through her battleground. They kept sneaking in, even with all the other places in this building. Krista kept killing them. The violence was almost becoming second nature; her hands no longer slipped on her blood-covered weapon grips. She was past that.

Long past that.

She dispatched of this Holy Brother quickly, completely detached from the _buzz_ as her lightsaber slid through his stomach. He could die as slowly as he liked; she didn't much care anymore.

_So tired_.

Another one chased in—she couldn't tell if it had been a few minutes, or a few hours, since the other one. She could keep fighting. These Holy Brothers might be incredibly skilled, but when they came in all nice and single file like this, they really made things easier for a girl with a lightsaber. Especially when one didn't bother with Light-side-Dark-side quibbling. She cut this one at the knees. Since Kyp wasn't nearby to use the Sildar, she removed his head next.

Easy.

But then several men came through the prison entrance and there was just Krista and Miko. Usually Miko was all the backup Krista needed. At the moment, however— Krista fumbled with her thoughts.

_Anyway_, just her, because the surviving MR fighters left before Krista had even finished clearing the room that first time.

Krista pushed away her exhaustion as best she could, as well as the nagging sensation that she had forgotten…something. The battle might be closing down, but they weren't done with her quite yet.

She fought. Not how she usually did, because her head spun and she didn't feel much like making wisecracks, but she fought. She never stopped, even when one clever little boy knocked Miko's lightsaber out of her hands and into a puddle on the far side of the prison. The lightsaber sparked miserably. Three of the men were still alive, and bearing down on her.

But Krista fought.

Her shoulder started bleeding again, and she thought about that. _Blood loss_. Exactly how _much_ blood had she lost? The room's spinning gradually increased in speed, just quickly enough to throw her off. Three Holy Brothers, and one Krista Harif. She could use an advantage or two.

(But there was something she had forgotten, wasn't there? Something besides _blood loss_ and _so much blood_. She just couldn't focus her mind properly.)

She had accidentally re-opened her wound, but the Holy Brothers didn't help. Sensing weakness, they targeted her left side, pushing her to use her throbbing arm.

(Jerks, she reminded herself. They were just big jerks who didn't like her hair.)

Krista fought through the tiredness, the pain, even the slowly growing nausea. She fought although her muscles ached, and sweat dripped in her eyes. She blinked against the pinpricks of light in her vision. When she opened her eyes again, however, she had stumbled backwards and was staring at the ceiling. _Okay. This isn't good_. She tightened her grip on her daggers and tried to move past it.

She tried, but these men had a different plan. While she was still disoriented, her three buddies surrounded her properly—something she had _really_ wanted to avoid. One lashed out at her shoulder, and the worlds spun again. She tripped out of their trap, and turned to face them despite her flickering vision.

She blinked. Hadn't there been just three of them? When had the others shown up? "Very rude," she muttered. "Un'nvited."

The Holy Brothers were getting desperate; even Krista could discern that much. They were…_twitchy_, for lack of better word. If they had had proper self-control, Krista would be long dead.

Of course, even the _twitchy_ couldn't save Krista when her own body turned on her. While she was trying to keep up her defence, she backed right into the wall. She startled like an agent in her first week of training. The worlds were spinning around and…round and…round…

And then they purposely shoved her against the wall again. It was too much; Krista fell to the ground, her head hitting the stone with a sharp _thunk_.

Kind of like earlier, she thought fuzzily. When…when she fell, and her head…

For the second time that night, Krista couldn't find her feet. This time the cause was far more physical than emotional. Krista hadn't eaten much before the battle, but now it all came up. Over, and over, and over—the nausea refused to be ignored until a more convenient time. Her shoulder felt like it was on fire; she could barely keep her eyes open from the exhaustion; the galaxy spun inside her stomach. Krista couldn't fight anymore.

The boys didn't seem to care—the _khalan_ niftyax was down, out for the count, and they were desperate. They left her behind as they scurried to the far corner. _Huh. A…secret exit? A backdoor?_ the Intel agent wondered.

But then there wasn't a lot of thinking anymore.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The Sildar cannot, will not, discriminate. Vengeance is as blind as Justice, but far more heedless. An eye for an eye, a tooth for a tooth, forever and ever, amen.

This is law.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar dropped the Sildar even before Rafintair's head hit the ground. The Holy of Holies fell silent even before Vengeance could start on the emperor's soul. The Holy Brothers stared at their master. The others stared at Sanar.

Kyp was vaguely aware of the Holy Brothers committing mass suicide, but he was far more concerned with getting to Sanar. His mind was too numb to deal with anything but the sprint to her side. Then he was there, and for all his speed Kyp couldn't do anything but stare.

_Sanar wielded the Sildar_.

Oh, touching it was bad enough—sometimes worse than being injured by it. But wielding it was—

_Sanar killed Rafintair with the Sildar_.

She was staring blankly at the Sildar where she had dropped it. No sign yet of Vengeance. That would change—it had with the Holy Brother from before. Kyp couldn't do anything to stop it. Any second now— "Sanar?"

She blinked at him, then glanced at the others. She looked confused. "Kyp." She cleared her throat, and looked down at her hands. They had been bloody for a while now—sword battles would do that—but Rafintair's execution had added a fresh coat. She wiped it off on her pants. "They're all dead. So it's…over?"

He frowned, thrown by her bizarre inclination to talk about things that _really_ didn't matter right now. Any second now he expected her eyes to start bleeding. "No," he replied. "There'll be—trials, uprisings. The Sildar isn't— Sanar, what did you _do_?" His voice broke under the weight of his anguish.

Her eyes widened, and she grabbed his sword-free hand. "I don't feel anything," she said.

He closed his eyes. "That'll change."

"No." She shook her head. "I mean, I don't—I'm fine."

"Sometimes it…it takes a moment."

"No. That isn't _it_, Kyp." She met his eyes with unnerving calm. "I am fine. I—I thought that—but I am perfectly all right."

How many times in her life had she called him _Kyp_? he wondered. It was a stupid thought to have at that time, but he could only really take in so much—and she had called him Kyp twice in as many minutes. It had to be a record. Or maybe he was hallucinating this whole thing, and when he stopped she would be—

It took him a moment to work up the courage, but eventually he could drop his sword, and use it to take her other hand. When that one was real, too, he took a deep breath and pulled her close. She felt real—_so_ real—and alive, and warm, and fine, so he tightened his arms around her and buried his face in her hair. Her hands went around to his back, and clung in deep.

Clung. Force, she had used the Sildar expecting—and—

There was still so much to do; Kyp held Sanar close until the inevitable happened.

(He tried, so very hard, not to make excuses, or to change "inevitable" to "probable." It didn't work. Kyp had always been a sucker for hope.)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Arelyk called for an ambulance. It arrived ten minutes later. The paramedics took one look at Lera, and called ahead to the psych ward. They pulled Nichyn away from their patient. One straightened out and held her twisted limbs, while the other prepared the stretcher. Slowly, Lera began to calm.

Her eyes, though—

They lifted her, and then swiftly strapped her into the stretcher. They buckled down her wrists and ankles, just in case. Her head lolled to the side, seemingly oblivious to her tears. Shanya climbed into the back of the ambulance with Lera. Jolesp's parents drove Lera's friends to the hospital. Jolesp's mother called Hallis Verili en route.

Nichyn ignored them. All he could see was Lera.

Fifteen minutes. Whatever had happened (_but he knew the answer to that, didn't he?_), it hadn't lasted longer than fifteen minutes. But Lera's expression…

And her eyes. Wild, unseeing, _gone_, they had…

They had been bleeding.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

If it has to, the Sildar can control the application of Vengeance. Its timing can be delayed, just a little. The consequences of using the Sildar can be applied gradually, in steps.

This is truth.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Zekk watched Jaina closely. Her reaction—and subsequently blackout—had him worried about Sanar, but Jaina's emotional state had priority. He had been putting her off for too long; tonight had been a hard reminder. "Then we'll go," he said. "To NLY. Hang the government—they can take it however they want. I'm not letting you go through this alone."

She looked away from him, as strange and distant as the first few days after her resurrection. Those nights, she had called out for a stranger, a bitter slave girl. Still caught in her dreams, she hadn't wanted him.

He wondered if she really wanted him now.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kyp pulled Sanar closer. After more than enough time for Vengeance to start its poison, he was beginning to hope. She had used the Sildar to kill Rafintair, after all. As the daughter of the first Kavishka, as someone who possessed many of the qualities required by the Sildar…perhaps Vengeance had forgiven her, made an exception, just this once.

"I feel fine," Sanar told him again. He tried to believe her.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The fate of the Sildar has always been the same: damnation, forever and aye. But few people know Prophecy and Vengeance's workings as well as Devnos Klis did.

This is whatever you make it.

(Devnos Klis made it hope.)


	114. Ch46: Vengeance's Compensation

This is the second update today, so make sure you didn't miss ch. 45 - it was a pretty important one ;)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

**Chapter Forty-Six: Vengeance's Compensation**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

They took Miko from her. Krista woke up for that part. After a few croaks and grunts, she even managed to speak. "No. Don'…" She took a deep lungful of air. "_Don't_ take—"

One blurry shape stayed to work on Miko. Far away came indistinct sounds that must have been words—Krista was pretty sure they were words, even if she couldn't understand them.

"Please…jus'…leave 'im alone."

The faceless person came closer, and even leaned over Krista. A cooking pan shield hung over Krista's chin. Not exactly the Holy Brother's style, she thought. MR fighter, maybe? Her head hurt.

Oh. And Miko was a guy. Well. "He'z wid us," she said as carefully as she could. The faceless part of this person was slowly resolving into a woman's eyes, nose and mouth. "Help 'im? Red hair," she clarified fuzzily. "Please, I…"

Brisk fingers felt her shoulder. A muffled noise—it sounded vaguely like, "Where hurt?"

"Sh-shoulder," Krista yelped when a hand reached the wound. "A-and…head. Concussion." Everything started to turn black again. Krista struggled to remember Miko's healing thing. Pain reliever? "Whad abou'…Miko?"

She didn't remember anything else after that.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Braun had taken a serious blow to his lower torso during the battle. Instead of leaving him to a very painful death, however, his attacker had managed to just miss both Braun's stomach and other vital organs.

Apparently, the universe had decided the widower should survive his wife's justice. Several months ago, Braun might have thrown himself headlong to his own death. He might not have even tried to dodge the Holy Brother's sword, and Braun Yd would have died in the Holy of Holies. Instead, he had a trip to whatever medical care could be provided for a man during the Resistance's victory. He might have asked about the famous Jedi healing magic, except he seriously doubted Kyp Durron could be moved from Sanar's side. Braun wouldn't even ask him, not after Veras.

Amazing, really, how adrift he felt only a few hours after such a pivotal conflict. Only a day ago, his entire being had been focused on this fight. There were still more battles to be fought, if he was inclined to stay. The _Prize_ had crashed over a year ago, but eventually he would get passage off the planet. He assumed that the GFFA would be told of the revolution, and about the role played by one of one of their more infamous Jedi. Intel and Krista's brothers had to be chomping at the bit after so long.

Braun would escape this planet before it could take anything else from him. But what then? He had built his life around his wife and their future. At most, he could return to his family. But how long before it reminded him of what he should have had with Veras?

He had survived. What the _kriff_ was he supposed to do next?

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Had he been anything less than a well-trained Jedi, Kyp suspected he would have been exhausted at (approximately) four in the morning. He could see Sanar's eyes starting to droop. He would have to let go of her soon—she needed the sleep, and much though he'd love to stay with her, the MR needed all the help they could get. The wounded littered the halls of their headquarters, with a count of at least a thousand. More were waiting to be transported from where they had fallen.

Thanks to brave, stupid Sanar, the war had been won. Thanks to the Holy Brothers, Pucijir's Order had ended the way it had begun: with too many deaths. Anyone able would have to put off sleep—and celebration—until the rest either died or survived.

Finally, Sanar's eyes began to droop too long, and soon they were closed more often than not. He could have tried to teach her a Jedi tiredness-suppression trick—if she would let him, which he quite doubted. The horror he had felt when Sanar picked up the Sildar lingered with him still, though. Sleep might do her some good. If the Sildar had indeed temporarily accepted her, then it must have drained her energy levels. The more rest she got, the better.

"Why don't you go back to your room for a while," he suggested. "Get some sleep. You look exhausted."

"You really need know how to flatter a girl," she mumbled. "Which way's my room?" She looked around blearily.

The fact that she had agreed so quickly told Kyp exactly how much she needed the sleep. "Do you need me to carry you?" he asked, amused.

She snorted, and seemed to shake off some of her exhaustion. "Yeah, I'm not quite that far gone." Her eyes changed suddenly, and he couldn't have named the emotion in them if his life had depended on it. "You know I—" She smiled almost self-deprecatingly. She swept her hair back—a simple step to allow her to regroup. When she looked back up at him, her eyes were soft. "Thanks, for…" Her smile lengthened; she leaned in and gently kissed him. "But I love you anyway. Despite Prophecy. I just…I just thought I should tell you that."

She turned to leave, but he couldn't pass up the opportunity. Surrounded though they were by Prophecy's aftermath, he pulled her tight to him so that he could kiss her properly. When they separated, he cupped her face in his hands. "I love you so much. And your room is that way." He nodded to the corridor to their left. "So have a good sleep." And because he was just _so, so, so very_ glad she was still here, he stole one last kiss. "We'll figure out what happened in the morning."

"Yeah, right." She smiled for him. "Of course, technically, it _is_ the—"

"Right, remind me of how tired I should be," he grumbled to her back. In the morning, gods—if this one thing, just this _one thing_ in his life could work out…

Kyp Durron still found himself clinging to hope, even after all these years.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Everywhere, the dead and the dying. Dejah felt sick. They had won—but at _such_ cost that she had to wonder if it was worth it. If this planet was worth fighting for anymore. Her gaze moved restlessly from corpse, to groaning fighter, to pools of blood, to anything that wouldn't remind her of the price they had paid. If there was any mercy on this world, she thought, she wouldn't see someone she knew. She prayed—to Mujir, to the Kavishka's Force, to anything that might listen—that she wouldn't recognize anyone.

There was no mercy in the world, though, and none of them—not the mother goddess, or the Force, or anything—listened to her pleas. Dejah's gaze caught on familiar blond hair. No one native to Na'Lein'yhpaon had hair of that colour. The blond curls, fanning out around Krista Harif's head, were mixed with blood. Another rock joined the growing collection in her stomach. She barely managed to swallow. Did Miko know yet? Had he seen Krista slumped against a wall, or even on the floor of the battleground where she had fallen? Had he watched as the blood slipped free of her shoulder, or that head wound? _Mujir, say you spared him that_.

Morbidly, Dejah's feet brought her to Krista's side. She crouched next to the girl, noticing that at least Krista's wounds weren't fatal. She didn't think they were fatal—head wounds were tricky, of course, and the Resistance's immediate medical care wouldn't be much better than what the body itself offered. With tentative fingers, she pushed Krista's hair behind her ears. Sticky with blood and sweat, the strands clung a little to Krista's cheekbones. "Poor girl," she murmured. She felt quite old, compared to this silly, happy girl. "This wasn't your fight."

As if hearing her, Krista groaned painfully. A moment later, she opened her blue eyes. They were unfocused, and moved erratically. "M—Miko?"

"No, I'm sorry. It's Dejah." She paused. "I don't know where Miko is."

Krista tried to focus on her face, but shortly gave up. "'Jah…" Surprising the fighter, the blonde burst into tears. "He's dead—Miko's…he saved my life, and… They took him from me…."

Dejah's eyes squeezed shut as she fought back the tears. _Miko dead_. And for Krista to have seen it—!

"Why d—did they have to take…" Despite her struggle to stay awake, Krista was clearly losing all sense of reality. Consciousness, Dejah expected, would soon follow the blonde's ability to focus. "I just wanted…"

Dejah gritted her teeth, then angrily swiped away her tears. "Who took him?"

Krista's hand fluttered vaguely to the side. "Them…ours? Cooking shields. Tried…tell them he's with us, but I don't…" She frowned tentatively. "Think I hit my head. Hurts." Her hand went to her head, but Dejah stopped the movement.

"Don't touch it. You definitely hit it."

"Miko's…Miko's dead," Krista moaned.

"No, no," the fighter soothed. Krista would not last if she thought that…that Miko… _No_. Krista needed something to hold onto, or she would drown. The blonde should recover from her wounds, but with proper medical care still hours—days?—away, Dejah refused to take any chances. "Of course not. Miko is too strong to die yet. We won. Just as soon as you're better, we will find him."

Krista's eyes began to droop closed again. "Promise?"

Dejah squeezed Krista's hand in hers. "I promise. Just hang in there."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina had stopped crying an hour ago. Her sleep remained uneasy; she fought and whimpered, but wouldn't wake. Zekk stopped trying to bring her back. In the hours since Sanar's latest catastrophe (and that wasn't fair, but Jaina and Zekk had problems aplenty without this), Jaina had become increasingly exhausted. Only once, she had mumbled something about "fighting" and "the River"—reason enough for Zekk to channel as much of his energy into their badly battered bond as he could. Jaina had been hard put to explain her death, and the events between it and her resurrection, but the terminology, at least, he had been able to understand.

Something horrible had happened to Sanar, apparently severing her bond to Jaina in the process. Death was finally calling to the girl who had cheated It.

With this (not to mention his latest mess) weighing on his mind, Zekk was by Jaina's bed, willing her to keep fighting, when a knock sounded at the door. He ignored it at first, assuming (or hoping) that it would be one of the Intel operatives come to warn him—again—about the giant risk he was taking in leaving Galactic Federation territory. Not many of them liked him; and although Jaina's reception had been chilly amongst the others, Zekk's latest behaviour had lost him some hard-earned respect as well. A warning knock at the door told him exactly how risky going to NLY was. As long as Yarex kept piloting them towards Coruscant and Zekk's ship, the _Second Chance_, he didn't feel like dealing with anyone.

When the interloper began to knock even louder, he sighed and went to the door. Jaina needed peace. He could face a diatribe if it kept Death at bay.

(He and Jaina weren't over yet. They couldn't be. They _couldn't_.)

He palmed open the door, frowning at the hiss. "Jaina's trying to sleep. Please don't—" He looked at the person in the door, and stumbled. "Perdita."

Perdita's eyes flicked into the dim room, then back to Zekk. "I apologize. Why don't we step outside, then?"

Zekk glanced back at Jaina. When she flinched, and swatted an invisible foe with her left hand, he imagined he could see where her engagement ring should be. "I don't think we have anything to talk about," he told Perdita.

Perdita rolled her eyes and dragged him into the hallway. "Yeah, see, I think we do. We kissed."

Zekk shut the door behind him. When he turned back to Perdita, his expression was angry. "You kissed me, and then I ran to try to do damage control with Jaina."

"So that _wasn't_ your tongue in my mouth?" she demanded archly. "If you're choosing Solo, that's one thing, Zekk. But if you try to pretend that the past year has been just a misunderstanding, and you've been Jaina Solo's perfect, faithful fiancé this whole time—"

"I'm choosing Jaina," he interrupted.

Perdita flinched, just a little. "Even though she gave back her ring?" she asked. Her voice was only a little strained.

He frowned. "How did you—" He cut himself off. "Never mind. Yes. Even though she gave back her ring. I have to try."

Perdita swallowed. _So did I_, her eyes accused him. "How is the Jedi princess?" she asked. Despite the nickname, her voice held no real malice.

"Don't pretend to care."

Her eyes flashed. "Don't stereotype me as the hateful other woman, Zekk. Solo and I understand each other."

It was Zekk's turn to flinch, but he nodded. "She's—" He released a shuddering sigh, and rubbed his face wearily. "She might be dying."

"But—what?" Perdita looked completely lost. She tried to recover. "Didn't she already do that, though? I'm sure she'll be…fine."

"I'm not," he snapped. "The woman who brought her back last time is—something's happened to her. The bond that first tied Jaina to life is now gone. Jaina might—"

"She's sleeping?" Perdita asked. "Is that wise?"

"She couldn't stay awake," he explained. "Not that she's resting—she's fighting even in her dreams."

"Weren't you there, too?" she asked, before shaking her head. "Right." She paused. "Are you choosing her because she needs you, or—"

"I'm with Jaina because I love her." He winced, remembering Jaina's expression when she had asked if he loved Perdita.

"Even if she survives, and even if she forgives and marries you, she won't understand you. Not really."

"I think last night disproved your theory—both about Jaina's understanding, and your own." His voice was harsher than he had intended; the sudden glossiness of Perdita's eyes told him as much. It hadn't been his best day, and it hadn't been a good day for anyone, period. Everyone was tired and irritable.

"I think you should go," he said quietly. "Anything that needs saying can be brought up when Jaina and I get back."

"Someone should remind you how badly it'll go, you leaving the GFFA. Our next conversation might be in a prison."

He kept his gaze level. "Consider your warning noted."

Her face softened with concern. "Zekk—"

"Jaina might be dying. Sanar Klis is likely to tar and feather me once she finds out about the past few months, but she's my friend, too, and she's in serious trouble. I'll deal with the consequences. I'm needed on NLY."

Perdita sighed, and he could almost see the fight draining her. "Goodbye, Zekk." Before he could react, she pressed a kiss to his cheek, and then she was gone.

They were never going to talk about it. Zekk stared after her for a moment, then returned to Jaina's bedside.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Jaina…_

…_dreamed. She dreamed of her sister, of pain and death and Prophecy. She dreamed of blood, Vengeance, and prices paid. She dreamed of secrets, plots, and strangers._

…_struggled. She struggled to keep her sister with her. She struggled to keep her mind together._

…_fought. She fought the River's current, fought to find purchase as Death called her soul. She fought to keep hold on those she cared for, to not lose any of herself as (if) she survived._

…_searched. She searched for her sister, best friend, other half. She searched, even as her soul bled and cried, even as the emptiness howled, even as she felt their cut bond curl in on itself in grief._

…_tried. She tried to sleep-but-not-die, tried to fight, tried to find her sister. Death called her name, and yet Jaina thought Sanar might not be dead. But what had happened? Jaina tried to understand._

_Jaina Solo slept, but there was no rest when she closed her eyes_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kyp found his former apprentice in a hallway far from any attempt at medical care. The few others around Miko were on death's doorstep. At first, Kyp wouldn't have said even that much for Miko. Even at second look, Miko was worse off than the hopeless causes around him. He had at least one foot in the River, probably both, and he was quite possibly drifting toward the shore. Kyp doubted that even the Sanar of five years ago, and with the Force's blessing, could have brought Miko Reglia back.

Kyp remembered how tightly he had held Sanar after midnight; for Krista's sake, he had to do something. If Miko's wound was any indication, the man had somehow even managed to slow his bleeding before he lost consciousness. Miko wasn't dead yet.

Unfortunately, Kyp feared that "yet" was the operative word in this scenario.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Silence pressed down on Nichyn as they sat in the waiting room. It had been hours since he last saw Lera. Night was falling, and Jolesp's parents were whispering about taking the "kids" back to the Fig home for sleep. Before they could implement their plan, however, Hallis and Jamut Verili were called into a doctor's office.

Fifteen minutes passed, at the very least. Nichyn wanted nothing more than to have Lera curled up next to him, busily writing with her right hand. She wouldn't even have to look up and smile at him; the warmth at his side would more than suffice. In the absence, his fingers tapped an unsteady beat on the side of his chair. Next to him, Arelyk was trying to meditate. It didn't seem to be working, if the Jedi apprentice's twitching eyelids were any indication.

When Lera's parents returned, their eyes were even grimmer than before. Hallis' eyes were wet; Nichyn had been a little uncertain about her before this display of concern. She gestured for Shanya, Timmis, and the Fig adults to join them. Nichyn burned with impatience as the parents conferred quietly. He could only catch a few uncomfortably translated words—"breakdown," "hallucinations," and "catatonia." Nichyn's Basic wasn't what it could be, even after all this time, but he had an idea of what they were accusing Lera of undergoing. Mind sickness.

"She is not crazy," he interrupted their conversation. He had shot to his feet, and stomped closer to them so that he could glare properly.

Shanya looked sympathetic. "Oh, Nichyn," she murmured, and tried to comfort him. He shook away the hand she lay on his shoulder. "I'm sorry, sweetie, but the doctors are…"

"They think this has been building up for some time," Hallis explained. She surreptitiously wiped her eyes. "Lera has never been the…strongest girl. The divorce served as a catalyst; we handled it—"

"Horribly," he snapped, momentarily distracted by the opening. "But you're wrong about her. This has nothing to do with you. It's _his_ fault." If Nichyn's voice had been angry before, now it turned spiteful.

"'His'?" Jamut repeated dangerously. "You knew something about this?"

"I think you had better explain what you know, Nichyn," Shanya said. He had never heard her use a sharper voice.

Nichyn suddenly understood Lera's frequent lapses into embarrassed stuttering. The adults' stares pressed down on his voice. He spoke quickly, nearly stumbling over his own words. He tried to cover everything Lera had told him, and the important things he had noticed himself. The basic timeline, and the times he had looked over to see her scrawling notes with her left hand. The prophecy, (hopefully) Vengeance's ignorance of Lera and Devnos' attempts, and Sanar's unknown fate.

"It's the 777th anniversary of Pucijir's Order today," he finished. "Prophecy must have reached its pinnacle sometime around when Lera… Prophecy must have found out."

"When did you discover this?" Shanya asked.

"I found her—two weeks ago, she was upset and—we fought," he stammered at the adults' expressions. "I thought it was dangerous, but a few days ago she said it was over; she had sent the message. She wanted to do it." His eyes drifted to the doctor's office.

Hallis swore. "Isn't that just typical of a boy," she said.

Jamut frowned at her. "Hallis…"

"Prophecy?" Lera's mother demanded, turning on Nichyn. "Vengeance? What, my little girl told you she was going to challenge them, and you decided not to tell us? The longer her condition goes untreated, the more difficult her rehabilitation. But of course you had to indulge her."

Shanya wearily shook her head. "Hallis, this won't help."

"'Indulge'—? She isn't crazy," Nichyn protested.

"Oh, no, she just has a dead stranger in her head, telling her that only she can save _another_ stranger. Not crazy at all. Gods." Hallis' shoulders shook, despite her attempts to stifle her sobs.

Shanya placed a gentle, firm hand on Nichyn's shoulder. "We will discuss the circumstances of Lera's episode later, Hallis. Nichyn, I want you to tell me everything you know, or even suspect, and everything you noticed." She raised a placating hand when Jamut began to speak. "At the very least, it will help us to know what Lera believes. Hallis, you should tell the others about Lera's condition."

"What's going to happen to her?" Nichyn asked when the Verilis left. "When can we see her?"

Shanya's lips tightened. "You will be allowed to see her in a little while. After you've finished explaining."

"But when is she coming back home?" He needed to be there for her. He had already failed her once; he wasn't going to do it again.

Briefly, his foster-mother looked lost. "It's too soon to say anything for sure, Nichyn. She might not— We will have to wait and see.

"Now, from the very beginning…"

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

It was some time before Kyp could relax again; Miko should have died—and he might still. _Just call me Kyp Durron: patron saint of lost causes_, the Jedi Master thought. Miko was breathing again—he had stopped, not briefly, a while ago. Kyp was finally seeing some benefits to being the Kavishka: SomeThing or SomeOne was giving Kyp a little more of what he wanted, at least with Miko.

(Always good things had heralded heartbreak. Kyp prayed that this time was the exception.)

He didn't know if Miko would survive to hold Krista again, but as long as Kyp provided an anchor, Miko wasn't getting any closer to the River's shore.

Miko might even be sinking back into life. But maybe that was Kyp's imagination. Miko had been his apprentice, after all. _Only the Force_ aside, even a Jedi Master-turned-Kavishka could indulge in hope.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

(_You should be dead_.)

Sanar struggled to keep her eyes open, but every step drained her of energy she didn't have.

(You stole the Sildar.)

Opening the door to her room took far more time than it should have. Sanar nearly fell through the opening. Blinking around her at her surroundings, however, she realized that the room was Kyp's, rather than her own. She blinked some more. She tried to rub her eyes clear, but couldn't quite find the strength to lift her hands. A dark brown robe was thrown across the bed. Definitely Kyp's room.

_There is always a price_.

She frowned. _Kyp? No. Dur—not Kyp, if I turn into one of those girls…_ Gods, she was so _tired_, even more tired than she had been all those years under Horaire. Was she shaking, or was that just her hands? She was beginning to feel sick, too. Stars, she wouldn't make it to another room. Kyp—_Durron_—would just have to deal with having her in his bed. Still, even the solution of a nearby bed didn't make her feel any better. She could feel a…rustling, almost, at the back of her mind.

_**There is always a price, Sanar Klis**_.

It twisted her insides in knots—tied them up in whispers, indistinct, but filled with foreboding that Sanar thought she should understand. The louder the noise became, the emptier she felt. Her mind felt scraped raw, and she flinched away from thought. She fumbled as she picked up Kyp's robe.

**Always a price, Sanar Klis**.

The robe dropped from her fingers, completely free of her own intention. She couldn't move; her thoughts fragmented into tiny, irretrievable slivers. There was—

**YOU SHOULD BE DEAD**.

_void_.

**ALL MUST PAY THE PRICE**.

There was—

_Daddy soldiers Brin Mama Clayra Carida Daddy Daddy no Daddy Horaire Quatroc_

—nothingness. Just (_Horaire protect Clayra please no Rafintair Horaire the Resistance execution and salvation Onyx obsession_) nothing. Those whispers were screams now, cutting out her legs beneath her—Sanar dropped against the wall as if she had never stood proud even once in her life.

Sanar…

…fell.

_Nononononononon__nono__NONO__**NO**_

(Everyone must pay a price)

_please not_

(even you, Sanar Klis)

_JAINA—_

She saw blood, and then…

_please, not Jaina_

…then:

(But we still need you.)

Nothing.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar Klis died seven hours after Prophecy's climax.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina had forgotten how to breathe. Every shred of her will was bent on imitating Zekk's existence. She could not recognize their momentum towards Na'Lein'yhpaon; she could not understand the distress in her (ex-)fiancé's eyes.

Jaina—_felt Sanar's death, the River calling calling_ Jaina Solo_, the fabric of the worlds and the boundaries of Life and Death bleeding together_—focused on breathing.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Nichyn was the last one allowed into Lera's room. He thought that his admittance was due more to Lera's drugged pleas than to Hallis' forgiveness. "You have two minutes," Lera's mother told him, quite sternly. He was already rushing through the door.

"Nichyn?" Lera said. Her voice was heavy and slightly slurred from the drugs.

He closed the final distance so that he could sit on the edge of her bed. His hand found hers quite naturally. The doctor must have undone the restraints some time ago; her wrists didn't look at all red. "Hey."

She smiled, or tried to—her muscles didn't cooperate very well. "You said 'hey.' Way t'go."

He nearly collapsed in relief. Lera would be alright. She would. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm…'m kinda out of it," she murmured. She sounded almost embarrassed. "They…uh, needles. Drugs? They're making me all…loopy. Think I told Zuleika to…water my books."

He scanned her face, noting the bacta patches. They had cleaned up the blood; her eyes looked completely healed. "You need sleep," he said. "You can worry about everything else after that."

Lera's face crumpled without warning. He had barely processed the switch before she began crying. "Oh, Nichyn, I felt it. I _felt_ it, and we lost. We failed, and…Sanar's gone, and—I don't understand, I don't understand how this could…happen, we _lost_…"

They had all lost, Nichyn thought miserably, and he felt his own failure the most keenly. He would have given anything to see Lera spared of this.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Far too many hours passed before Kyp found Sanar again. Miko's heart continued to beat, but far from reliably. Kyp was already channelling a hefty amount of his life energy through their very neglected training bond. Kyp had hit his second and third winds, which allowed him to continue helping the Resistance. Krista, Braun, and Gantik had all been injured; they were only three of many. Kyp had never been much of a healer, but he was a Jedi, and a Kessel survivor; he was kept very busy.

Eventually, however, his exhaustion made him far more of a liability than any kind of help. He made his escape, promising himself to catch just a few winks before jumping back into the chaos.

He hadn't seen Sanar since she left to sleep, which he found at least a little odd. Even taking into account the size of MR headquarters, and the post-battle mayhem, he had expected to see her at some point if just briefly. It had been nearly a full day since Rafintair's death; she couldn't have slept that much of the time. If he wasn't so exhausted, and so tangled up in Miko's survival and others' healing, Kyp would have diverted even a little attention towards finding Sanar through the Force. As it was, he hoped to stumble across her on his way to his room. He could kiss her, touch her and be sure she was alive, and then collapse into bed. It sounded like a good plan to him.

He took a detour to glance through her room, just to make sure she was up. The bed looked mussed—Sanar wasn't exactly one to make her bed, ever, let alone after a revolution—but there was no sign of the woman herself. _Well, there goes that plan_. As soon as he wasn't stealing oxygen, he'd have to find her. Sleep first, though. He was officially useless.

Kyp's dragging feet pulled him to his own room, one door down and across from Sanar's. The door pushed open easily, hardly scraping along the floor at all. He had walked half way in before he noticed the woman sitting on his bed. Her ankles were daintily crossed; her hands were in her lap. At odds with her docile position, there were still flecks (more than flecks, if he was honest) of blood on her face and those carefully arranged hands.

She looked up at his entrance; she smiled very prettily. "Kyp!" she exclaimed happily. She stood; her smile grew. Her eyes were empty.

His name should have been the first clue, right from the very beginning. She had never called him by his given name _before_. Sanar Klis—even a Sanar Klis who loved him—could never completely disassociate him from Carida. The adoration in her face now was a mockery of her earlier confession of love. Kyp searched for Sanar Klis in the Force and found only a shadow.

(Really, "shadow" was far too strong a word. He found a heartbeat, and something he couldn't bring himself to name.)

"Oh," the woman breathed happily. "I was wondering when you would come. How are you? Give me a moment, and I'll run you a bath."

Kyp suddenly found himself suppressing the urge to tear off a face very dear to his heart. The hair, eyes, mouth, shape were all the woman he loved, but this…this was not Sanar. Vengeance had taken its compensation.

(Of course, it was never finished. There was still—)

"What are you?" He curled his fingers into fists, but otherwise did not let himself move. He was afraid he might fly across the room and—do something drastic. If there was even the smallest chance—and even if there wasn't—this was…had been…Sanar. He didn't dare relax his hands.

When she laughed, it was more like a giggle than anything. "Why, I'm Sanar," she said. "I am the one who loves you."


	115. Ch47: Interlude, Part III

Flashing forward one last time.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

**Chapter Forty-S****even: Interlude, Part III**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Lera set her stylus down for a moment. This part always… Force, and her headache just kept getting worse, the deeper she delved into Sanar's fate. Every time she gathered the courage to stare at her failure, she hit a brick wall.

"Hello, Lerasina."

She hadn't felt him coming; at least he had learned from the last time. He had tried this before. She had blocked him both times. This time, though, he was projecting—the best she could do was ignore him. She didn't really feel like her best right now.

"What do you want?" she asked.

"How are you?" He looked sincere. Tired, actually—could ghosts get tired?—but sincere. She remembered that she didn't really hate him—she had known the risks, and wanted to help anyway. It was just hard to swallow that with failure and a psych hospital.

"How do you think I am?"

Devnos looked her over with some relief. "Well," he murmured.

She suspected that he hadn't meant for her to hear that, but she flared up anyway. "'Well'?" she demanded. Alright, so maybe she was a little angry with him. Part of her episode had come from Devnos, after all. It hadn't been all her grief, or Prophecy's rage. "I'm not _well_; I just spent the past three months in a mental hospital. They thought I was crazy—and let's not forget how I clawed up my own skin. They thought I was a 'danger to myself and others.' Add in how I claimed a dead guy was talking to me, and…"

"You're alive," he interrupted. "Sane, and yourself. You were never out of your right mind, or in spiritual danger, or even real physical harm's way."

"They thought my eyes were bleeding. Even more than they were, that is." Lera's voice was flat. "The face bleeds the most, you know, so there was… I'd say I experienced physical pain."

"Lerasina—"

Her mood shifted suddenly. "What hurts the most, though," she interrupted him, "is that it was all for nothing. We didn't manage to change a single thing for Sanar. I knew I might get hurt, though I didn't really expect—well—_this_. I just hoped that maybe Sanar…"

Devnos was silent. His eyes wouldn't tell her anything, but she could imagine his grief.

"What did that letter even say?" Lera asked. "I know you couldn't tell me before, what with Prophecy and all. But now—you said Sanar read it. Why didn't she… How could she not listen?"

"I don't know," he murmured. Now he dropped his gaze, refusing to meet her pleading eyes. "She just…" He shook his head.

"Didn't you tell her an alternative way?" Lera demanded. "I mean, you told her what would happen, but—there was another way, wasn't there? Some way for her to be okay? And you told her about it, right?" Her head was really beginning to throb, now. Lera squeezed her temples between the palms of her hands. "What _did_ you tell her?" She flinched as a particularly sharp lance of pain plunged through her head.

"Does it hurt?"

"What?" Lera stared at him blankly. For a moment, she couldn't have even said what they were talking about.

"Does your head hurt?" He looked concerned.

"Uh…" She blinked. "Yeah. A little." Slowly, the pain began to recede. Either it was her imagination (which, admittedly, was more than overactive), or Devnos had just slipped back into her mind for a moment. She didn't mind, so long as the headache backed up a bit. She didn't thank him, but she allowed him his diversion from Sanar's fate. If he wanted to talk about headaches, she could do that for a few minutes. "It's just—have you been…watching?" she asked.

He shook his head. "As soon as—I leave whenever you ask, I assure you."

She nodded wearily. "My therapist gave me a project, sort of a final exam before I leave. I'm writing about everything that—that happened."

"You mean…with Sanar?" Devnos edged closer to the desk, his eyes flicking around it as if drawn to his sister's fate, even on a data screen.

"Sanar's story, yes." Lera's expression was gentle, but she knew it didn't have to be. After all that had happened, she suspected that she understood him better than most.

"Does it help?" he asked curiously. "Is it helping?"

She laughed shortly. "Besides the sick pit in my stomach every time I get to Sanar's fate, you mean?"

"And your headache," he added. His eyes were fixed on hers.

She shrugged with one shoulder. "I didn't _expect_ it to work—thought my therapist was the one who belonged in the loony bin, even, but…"

He smiled at her, and she realized that he understood completely. How strange, that the two who seemed to understand her best were so closely related. She rather preferred the nephew, though.

"I'm recovering," she said finally, answering his purpose in coming. "I'll be leaving quite soon, and I'll grow up, and I'll be okay." Her wisdom turned to ash in her mouth. Her head throbbed, but the ache in her heart was worse. "That's more than I can say for Sanar, I suppose."

Something like pride outshone the grief in Devnos' eyes. "You're going to be alright, Lerasina Verili."

"Yes, I am." No stuttering. She looked down at her datapad. "I'd be better if I had a happier ending for Sanar, of course." She sighed, and moved on with her life. "I should finish this."

"I came to say goodbye."

To say _goodbye_—she understood immediately that it was his only one. Presumably, Prophecy was no longer blocking him—but who else would he talk to? Nichyn? Nichyn hated his uncle for his part in Lera's episode. Nichyn's mother? Lera didn't think so.

"You waited around three months to say goodbye?" she asked. Despite everything, including herself, she almost felt fond of him for that.

He hesitated and glanced away for a suspicious second. "I have to go now. I wanted to make sure you were alright."

Lera frowned; something was very…off about Nichyn's uncle. She just couldn't put her finger on the exact cause. "Devnos, what did you write in that letter?" And why, she wondered suddenly, was her memory still full of holes from when he explained Sanar's fate, and his plan to rescue her?

"I have to go now." He didn't sound very apologetic for ducking her questions. He paused, though, to look at her with an odd expression, somewhere between affection and pride and admiration. "You are going to have an amazing life, Lerasina Verili. You and Nichyn, both."

She didn't know what to say to that—was it a prediction from Prophecy's once-seer, or a wish from a quasi-friend? But even as she wondered, he was fading; Lera tried one last time. "What about Sanar? Devnos!"

A whisper's shade, deep in her heart, was all he left behind: _Never give up on a happy ending_.

For a long time, Lera stared at where Devnos' ghost had been.

Then she returned to her writing.


	116. Ch48: Two and a Half Reunions

This is the second post today, so make sure you read ch. 47 :)

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

**Chapter Forty-Eight: Two and a Half Reunions**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

When Veras was thirty-one years old, Pucijir's Order lost the Holy City. Veras fought shoulder-to-shoulder with her sisters and their male allies. Thirty-one years after her birth, however, Veras no longer felt it as she once would have. Among the men was an absence that Veras breathed through every morning-day-noon-afternoon-evening-night.

So many (so few) years ago, Veras had fallen in love with a decent, "normal"-not-normal man who took her away from a life on NLY. For the first time in her life, Veras hadn't had to be very good at making do. There had only been Braun, their friends, a ship, and a galaxy full of opportunities.

Returning to her old life of _making do_ was like being dumped into ice water. Veras didn't like it; it felt wrong. Everything had felt wrong since she woke up in a strange room, to be told that the man with her—her husband—was dead. He had fallen and been mangled by the rocks she had only just missed, and he had been torn apart beyond all recognition. How lucky she was, strangers had told Veras, that she had fallen in the water, instead. _Lucky_, and the clouds had come storming back, sucking from her all the happiness she had found, and—

And yet here she was. She had dreamed of the Jirs' deaths for so long; and now the leaders of Pucijir's Order were dead. Mujir's Resistance had won the battle against Rafintair's army.

It was—wonderful. _Liberating_. Veras wouldn't trade this victory for anything, because it wasn't just _her_ dream. She wouldn't. But, gods, what would she give to have Braun…?

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

It really was sad, Braun thought. Dejah held so much promise, but he supposed that even the best could suffer when their life purpose was achieved. He shouldn't be annoyed by her demented behaviour. Even if she _had_ grabbed hold of his sore arm and started dragging him away from a wounded fighter's side, she deserved his patience. And he only knew basic first aid—less than basic, here; he knew more about cauterized wounds than messy sword injuries. So she wasn't really _jeopardizing_ the other soldier.

It was pitiable, not deserving of his ire; but if Dejah didn't explain soon, he was going to stop making allowances. Their guide was clearly insane. She was _muttering_, too, talking to herself, saying things like _where could she be, I just saw her here, have to find her_.

"Dejah, who are you looking for?" Braun was quite exhausted, and his side wound wasn't helping. Still, he thought he sounded quite reasonable—even gentle—all things considered.

"For—" She hesitated, and eyed him with something akin to paranoia. She opened her mouth to explain, but suddenly became distracted by something down the corridor to their left. "Wait, down here—she might be down here—the extra rooms—"

"There are more guest rooms on the other side of this labyrinth, too," he pointed out. Dejah ignored him, and began opening doors so that she could look into the rooms at random. More than a few of the rooms' occupants were far less patient than him. Obviously, he was a saint. "You have a room there," he reminded her. "I think some sleep would do you a world of…"

"Shut _up_. She survived. I saw her—"

"_Who_ survived?" he demanded.

At the same time, a ghost answered Dejah's latest wood victim. The breath left Braun's lungs. Veras was staring at him, too, looking as stunned as he felt. He couldn't drag his eyes away. Someone spoke, and he only realized that it was him halfway through his questions. "Dejah? You see her, too, right? Tall woman, straight dark hair, scar over her left eye—?"

The ghost sobbed over Dejah's sympathetic reply. He knew that hitch of breath, that raspy sound that came before an echoing cry. She had a series of new, thin scars across her face—barely visible, he suspected, except for in just this kind of light. He could see three weapons strapped on her body; he knew there were more.

His fingers touched real cloth. She winced when his hand brushed a wound. He couldn't manage even that when she noticed the wound on his side a second too late. Muscle and skin pressed against him. Real—and if she wasn't, he didn't care.

When he kissed her, the tears made it salty.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

With Krista recovering from her head trauma quite slowly, Dejah took periodic breaks from the heartbroken girl's vigil. It was difficult to see Krista so subdued. Perhaps that explained her single-mindedness in finding Veras so that someone, at least, could have a happy moment. On her way back from the reunion, however, Dejah had checked the roster of recovering-and-surviving fighters, and Miko's name had been blatantly missing. Not, the fighter told herself, that that _meant_ anything. The Resistance—Quatroc, and soon enough all of Na'Lein'yhpaon—was redefining the definition of _chaos_ in the wake of Rafintair's death. The rosters were woefully incomplete. Miko wouldn't be helped by the unluckiness of his gender, or by his obviously foreign looks, either.

Dejah returned to Krista's side soon after that. Whenever she was awake, Krista seemed quite desperate for any kind of distraction, and Dejah couldn't quite leave the poor girl alone, especially after her baseless assurances that everything was alright. When Krista fell asleep again, therefore, Dejah made a more serious bid to discover Miko's fate. After more than an hour, she found the fighters who had brought Krista in from the field. A foreign male ally with red hair stuck out in one of the woman's minds, despite how many bodies she had seen, and she gave Dejah vague directions to the man's last location.

At first look, Dejah thought she had made a false promise to Krista. Miko looked dead, slumped in a corner, his glazed eyes barely open, and blood stained across his tunic. Dejah was five sentences into a prayer of lamentation before she noticed that his chest was moving. She knelt beside him.

A sword stroke had landed across his chest—deeper at the top right side of his torso. Even ignoring the blood, the wound looked serious. Someone had bandaged Miko's chest, but their patchwork job made no claims to mastery. Dejah meant to change it as soon as she could tear herself away from her appraisal.

Somehow, impossibly, closer inspection revealed that Miko's wounds were healing. More so where they were worst, and erratically elsewhere, but healing. The blood, she noticed with no less surprise, was hardly even fresh, despite the wounds still being open. Dejah stared at the drying blood for a long moment before it sunk in; she recoiled slightly. _Magic. Outsider's magic?_ she wondered abruptly, and forced herself to consider it properly. The Kavishka—and even Miko—had mentioned a belief to do with some _Force_. Was this magic something to do with their religion?

_Krista needs to know Miko is alive_. Dejah hesitated, still caught by possible proof of the Kavishka's power. If this was his magic—and then with Prophecy's fulfillment—it could mean…

_No more excuses, if_—

She made one anyway, and justified it by turning it into a promise. If Miko lived, she would know. She would know beyond any doubt.

Dejah didn't move Miko. Just in case the Kavishka came back. She did change Miko's bandages, though, before running back once more to Krista.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina had seen many, many difficult landings in her time. The first one on Na'Lein'yhpaon was the worst not caused by an enemy ship. Piloting was very much part of _Jaina Solo_ so she was able to help Zekk steer through the heavy atmosphere. When the _Chance_ finally hit the ground, they were only two hours from Quatroc. It might have taken less time, but Jaina was still fighting the last of the River's pull. It took her time to walk.

(She would make it. Sanar, on the other hand…)

Kyp met them at the Quatroc gates. "You look about as good as I feel," he told Jaina.

"I wouldn't agree," she replied shortly. She didn't mean to be unkind. He didn't really _look_ so great, either. Jaina trudged up to him, and gave him a wan smile. Choosing to lean her weight on him, she slipped her hand into his. "I need to see—is she…?" Even with Kyp all but carrying her, Jaina was shaking. Maybe it wasn't so much because of her exhaustion, anymore. "Kyp, what happened?"

He slipped an arm around her shoulders. "I don't…really know." Kyp tucked her into his side; he hadn't even looked at Zekk yet. "Sanar used the Sildar to kill Rafintair, but she seemed _fine_ so I thought maybe… But now she's—she isn't Sanar anymore."

Jaina's fingers clutched at Kyp's cloak. "Just…take me to her. Please. I'm—I need to see her, and then we'll figure out what—happened."

"Are you well enough?" Kyp asked when Jaina stumbled.

Behind them, Zekk's gaze never left Jaina. She could feel the weight of his concern; she still mimicked his breathing a little too much. "Just get me to Sanar."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kyp had to force himself to let go of Jaina when they reached Sanar's room. Sanar's sister felt too insubstantial, as if a whisper might blow her away forever. Jaina insisted on seeing Sanar alone, however, and years of friendship had taught Kyp better than to argue. Even if she was dying again, Jaina had inherited a stubborn streak a galaxy wide from _both_ of her parents. Arguing would only make her less amenable to his help.

Still. She was shaking like a leaf just after releasing his arm. He braced himself. "Do you want me to… I can walk you in," he suggested. "If you'd like."

"I'm fine." The way she swayed suddenly had Kyp reaching out to catch her. She shook her head, and brushed aside his hands. "Just need to…to see Sanar, and then we'll—"

"Jaina—" Zekk interjected pleadingly. Kyp had completely forgotten about him.

Her jaw set in a very familiar way. "No," she said. "Alone. I'll be fine; Sanar won't." Without further ado, she slipped into the room. The door swung shut behind her. Kyp could almost imagine Jaina leaning against the door as she gathered her strength.

"She almost died." Zekk sounded run ragged. "She could be dying right now. What happened?"

"I don't know. Jaina might be the only one who can…"

"You're the one who saw it happen, though. Jaina just got yanked back into the River."

Kyp bristled. "I notice she hasn't exactly been clinging to you, Zekk. Aren't you supposed to be her next most supporting bond? What happened _there_?

Zekk flushed, seeming pained. If Kyp could have spared a moment for the once Lord Onyx over Sanar and Jaina and Miko and Prophecy, he suspected that his temper would have exploded. His patience was very thin, but he had too much to worry about. His suspicions and protectiveness for Jaina would have to wait. Of course, if he had really lost Sanar, then he could really use a good punching bag.

Kyp forced himself to answer Zekk properly. "No one knows Sanar better than Jaina, even with a cut bond. Death is familiar territory for them. They can beat it again." The words (lie) tasted sour.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Dejah had become more or less constant company, although Krista had been beyond noticing it for the first few days after the Resistance's victory. Now, however, the blonde was nearly healed from her injuries. She was thinking clearly, remembering properly. It was time, the young woman had decided, to start covering up again. Dejah could show her back to her room and make-up bag. It was _like_ a start.

Dejah had been gone when Krista woke up that morning. One of the nurses (who was probably more of a healthy fighter than a trained healer) had checked Krista's head with some relief. "You help now," she insisted over Krista's questions about Dejah. "Help," apparently, was not going to be with the nurse's very necessary makeover. Krista's caretaker just didn't appreciate the benefits of a carefully applied mask.

Put to work mopping brows and cleaning up sickness, Krista occupied her mind with particularly scathing beauty critiques. She refused to think about anything else. Nope, she would take make-up and bubble-mindedness over dead Miko any day. Definitely. No choice.

Which didn't quite explain her staggering relief when Dejah arrived that afternoon. Krista might have gone a little overboard with the enthusiasm, there. She threw her arms pretty tightly around the fighter. "Hi, I'm up," she said. She tried to look extra sparkly. "Look, I need your help finding—"

"Excellent." Dejah was all brisk and no-nonsense. Krista would _really_ have to soften the girl's make-up palate. Maybe some nice summer colours would help her relax. "I know just the patient for your attention."

Krista blinked, quite certain she had just been ignored. "Right, but first I really need…"

Dejah definitely wasn't listening. She rattled off something in Na'Lein to the nurse, who didn't look very pleased to lose a bedpan slave, even as she started dragging Krista out of the room. Progress, Krista thought, except Dejah had been talking about a _special patient_, not _really necessary make-up and bath_, so Krista was a little paranoid.

Of course, this _was_ serving rather well as a distraction. Better than just doing fifty bandage changes per hour, at least. _Still_. Dejah was being bossy.

"Why do I, specifically, have to help this person?" she whined. "I'm not even a healer. And I can't speak Na'Lein, so they keep babbling at me and getting freaked out, and…"

"This one is far more likely to ramble in your language."

Krista went cold. _That_ was _not_ a distracting idea. She had been too out of it before to ask, but someone—someone else must have been injured. "Braun?" she asked in a small voice. "Or—"

"It is Miko."

Krista came to a dead stop. All the colour drained from her face; her heart made a valiant attempt to come up through her throat and strangle her. "Miko?" Her head hurt.

Dejah kept tugging at Krista's hand. The halls were no longer as mad as they had been—this part, in particular, seemed almost ghostly. What few people there were in the hallway, all moved too slowly. "I found him last night. He should be…down here somewhere…"

"Dejah, I—I don't know if I can…"

They rounded a corner, and what Dejah saw at the end of the hallway made her pause. "Still here," she murmured. "Look."

Krista was definitely _not_ going to look. "Dejah, please, I…"

"I told you he was alive, didn't I?"

Krista couldn't breathe, couldn't breathe, _couldn't_— "Alive?" she bleated.

Dejah looked at Krista, surprised, before she paled. "Mujir, Krista, forgive me, I—I thought—no, Miko's alive. The Kavishka, he must have… He used magic, because Miko's wounds are—" Dejah's hands were surprisingly gentle on Krista's shoulders. "Come, I will show you." She smiled a little at Krista's blank stare. "He is alive. I…I _believe_…he will survive. Thanks to…"

Krista bolted down the hallway. Her feet weighed a hundred pounds, and every step translated into trip-stumble-forward, but soon they were lighter and then the walls and doors blurred around her from her speed. She felt sick and spent and dizzy from the press of her own hope—pushing down, down, _down_ on her heart, just waiting to squash it completely—

_They always leave—_

She made a skittering attempt to stop before she reached the end of the hallway. His red hair served as a beacon, but it distracted her from the wall's impact. She still couldn't breathe. She slid down the stone until her weak knees hit the floor. She couldn't quite touch him—if she touched him, he would vanish and then she would never—

There was a strange, raspy, rattling sound; Krista startled; she lost her balanced, and stretched out a hand to steady herself. Fabric, there, under her fingers, and warm skin. Krista stared. Her lungs ached.

(Her nails were chipped, and looked like they might even dare to split soon. They need a month of pampering to _maybe_ get back to what they had been.)

Again, that sound. Krista burst into tears. He was breathing. (She breathed with him.) Miko was breathing.

_They always leave, but sometimes they come back_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The morning after Jaina's arrival, Kyp and Zekk were still waiting outside of Sanar's room. Jaina had not emerged from the room even once; both men could sense the quiet hum of her meditation. Geneva found them there. "Another foreigner?" she demanded sharply. Her voice cut through the long silence. Zekk, who had been drifting toward sleep, startled to full alertness. "If you plan an invasion—"

Kyp sighed, but stood to speak with her. "What do you want, Geneva?"

Despite her suspicion, the MR leader's expression was alight with triumph. She didn't even look completely disgusted by the presence of men in her headquarters. "We must speak. The first set of executions is to be held tonight."

Kyp paused. "After a trial, I assume?"

Geneva sneered. "Your _Sildar_ will suffice for the High Priest, and for Brother Commander Vacchus. All their crimes are well known."

"For tonight, right? Our talk can wait."

"You are too busy now?" she asked scathingly.

Three things happened very quickly. First, Kyp's temper finally found a target, and he visibly prepared to lash out. Second, Zekk shot to his feet to prevent Kyp from doing something he would regret. Third, Jaina stepped out into the hallway. The men froze, and even Geneva looked interested.

Jaina leaned against the door. She looked exhausted. Kyp was beginning to wonder if that would change anytime soon. Her eyes flicked moodily over the trio before her. "I just can't take you anywhere, Kyp, can I?" Her joke fell spectacularly flat. Zekk winced.

"Our conversation can wait," Kyp told Geneva. Before she could protest, he had hooked an arm around Jaina's shoulders so that he was supporting her. "We can talk in my room, Jay. How are you feeling? There's some water, if you'd like it, or we could get some food."

"I could do with some water," Jaina agreed. "I'll eat later, though. Mom would throw a fit if she knew I talked with my mouth full." She quirked her lips in a weak smile as he led her to the bed. She waited until Zekk had shut the door behind them before starting. "How much longer do you expect the Kavishka to be needed, Kyp?"

He handed her a glass of water, then leaned against the wall. "I don't…know." He struggled to keep his patience. "What does it matter?"

"It _matters_," Jaina snapped. She frowned, and subdued her tone. "Sorry. It matters. Just—make a guess."

"A…a few months, maybe. I don't think the Resistance will hold very long trials, at least for their worst enemies, and at some point it has to come down to them."

"Oh." Jaina took a shuddering breath. "That's a long time." She quickly moved on from her reaction to the facts. "The Sildar requires certain…qualities from its holder. Jarran was meant to be the only choice, but need for the Kavishka allowed some small compromises. The prophetic equivalent of duct tape." Jaina's eyes were unusually solemn, even given the changes she had undergone with her resurrection. They were fixed on Kyp's face. "You understand, right? It wasn't perfect, and everyone had to make…sacrifices. You've changed, Kyp. But the Sildar made allowances."

He thought of the Sildar's rejection, which had pushed them all over the precipice. "Prophecy was broken. I get it. So with Sanar…?"

Jaina swallowed, bit her lip, and took a deep gulp of her water. "I'm—Kyp, I spent the night meditating next to my sister's zombie, not gabbing with Vengeance. I'm still trying to collect my thoughts." She inhaled deeply. Kyp thought he detected barely-restrained hysteria in his friend's eyes.

"Right." He saw next to her on the bed, and once again looped an arm around her shoulders. She felt too fragile to be Jaina Solo. "Sorry. Take your time."

She reached across his lap to take his free hand. Kyp and Jaina had been through many dark times together. It was surprisingly easy to forget even Zekk as they drew comfort from each other now. "Of course," she restarted, "the Sildar _wants_ vengeance, and usually the only one stupid enough to use It is an enemy, so It doesn't exactly mind. I mean, aside from the criteria problems caused when Jarran died. The Sildar is only too eager to be directed by the Kavishka to enemies, and to destroy an enemy who…who did…what Sanar did.

"But Sanar—Sanar is one of them. She is one of the women granted Vengeance. She's even part of Prophecy; she was on their side in every way. She only used the Sildar to kill Rafintair. Vengeance and Prophecy were— But there are rules that cannot be thrown aside. The Sildar is the product of a pact with the Devil."

"She's gone forever, isn't she?" Kyp asked, his voice leaden.

"_But_," Jaina continued, "They still need her. What is Sanar's role in Prophecy, Kyp?" She elbowed him, a little more sharply than was kind. "_Kyp_."

He scowled, but summarized their discovery. When he was finished, Jaina sighed. "Right. I should have guessed something like that. What's left of her is…"

"'She's the one who loves me,'" Kyp recalled.

"She recognized me," Jaina said. Her face held no expression. "She called me Jaina, and knew me as your friend. Despite the…circumstances at the time, she got to know you through me, really. She probably doesn't remember anything from before then—it wouldn't be important. Whatever is left of Sanar…revolves around you." She leaned forward, resting her head in her hands. "Kriff."

Kyp gave her a moment before squeezing her shoulder. "Jay, please."

"The Sildar sucked her dry of everything that made Sanar Klis herself. Drained her of everything except her love for you. Everything. She might not even remember Da—Jarran. Clayra? Nothing important. Sanar won't know anyone or anything that doesn't have to do with you."

"Please don't," Kyp said. Across the room, Zekk looked stricken.

Jaina didn't stop. "All her abilities are gone. Anything left over from when she was a seer…as if it never existed. She will never argue again, let alone just for the hell of it. If you ever get ambushed, Sanar will be as useful as an infant."

"Jay—"

"Expect her to be sickly, but to ignore that and fret over _your_ needs. You'll never have to cook your own meals, or care for your wounds—oh," Jaina's laugh cut like a blade, "the last will be her _religion_, no doubt. And every night she'll kiss you on the cheek before you go to bed, and then fall asleep right after you—"

"Jaina, stop it," Zekk snapped. "That's enough. He understands."

Just as suddenly as it had appeared, the cruelty drained from her eyes. Instead, the hardness shifted to horror. "Stars, Kyp, I… I'm—I'm so sorry. I don't blame you, _really_, I'm just…I'm upset."

Kyp couldn't quite meet her eyes, but he nodded. Jaina's litany was trapped inside his mind like a song. It took him several moments to regain his composure. "Can anything be done?"

The hysteria in Jaina's eyes began to rail against its cage. Jaina's laugh…_slipped_, more than a little. "Kyp, you're asking the wrong question," she said. "This isn't the end. When the Kavishka is through, so is she. There are rules, remember. The question is, will Sanar's soul be damned forever and aye? And no, there wouldn't be anything we could do if she was."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"It's alright if you blame me," Kyp told Jaina some time later. "I do. I put Rafintair off too long. I was distracted by my love life—ironic, now, you would think that I'd have learned by now—"

"I don't blame you at all." Jaina sighed, and swung her legs around so that she could lie on the bed. After a moment's hesitation, Kyp joined her. Zekk had left to find some food, but mostly because Jaina and Kyp needed to talk. Desperation had provided some tape for their bond, it seemed; he had gotten Jaina's message.

"I don't blame you for any of it, not even a little," she continued. She was so very tired. "Nobody hurts Sanar quite like Sanar Klis, after all."

"I promised to protect her," he insisted.

"Idiot." She waited until he looked at her, his expression a little wounded. Stars, she thought. Sanar gone, so it was Jaina's job to put Kyp back together now. Well, he had taken care of her plenty through the years. She could start pulling her weight. "It was beyond stupid to promise anything of the sort. Especially if Sanar was the one to pick up the damned sword. She knew the risks better than anyone."

"What do you think is going to happen?"

She let out a slow breath. "I am going to stay and help, the way I should have from the start." He shifted next to her, but she ignored his protest. "We didn't exactly clear this trip with anyone, so Zekk might have to leave for a while. Or maybe he'll stay—the damage is already done, after all. And you are going to finish Prophecy. And then…"

He echoed her sigh. "And then Sanar and I will both die, I suppose?"

She stilled. "That's a… Why did you come to that conclusion?"

"How have you been, Jaina?"

She laughed. "You're such a jerk."

"You smiled, though." Kyp moved onto his side so that he could observe her properly. "What's going on with you and Zekk?"

"You _are_ a jerk." She struggled for a moment before strengthening her resolve. She had time to fix the past year of her life. Kyp was still in the middle of it, and all too vulnerable from Sanar's death. "It doesn't matter right now."

"It does matter," he countered. "I believe that I have—at some point or another—threatened that boy with bodily harm should he kriff things up. I'm very caught up in women's vengeance these days, you know."

She shook her head, and directed her eyes away from him. "Just life, Kyp. Life, time, and scar tissue." She hesitated. "I'm going to fix it."

"You aren't wearing your engagement ring."

"Zekk and I aren't over." Jaina's jaw was set; her voice was almost stern. "We can talk about it later."

There was a long pause from Kyp. When she looked at him, his expression was devastated. "That's what I told Sanar," he said. She almost couldn't hear him. "The last time I saw her, I said—that we would talk in the morning about what had happened."

"You're going to be masochistic about this, aren't you?"

Finally, his mood seemed to lighten. Well, the Kyp Durron version of _lighten_. "You're going to be stubborn about this, aren't you?"

"Yep." She popped the "p," and tried to give it some cheer. "And I'll be here for a few months, so get used to it."

"Great. A little sister underfoot. My credibility is going to be in shreds before the week is up."

"I thought I'd start with the story of your first state dinner," she told him. "And then maybe the dancing lessons. And your diplomatic mission to—where was it? When you thought there was a conspiracy, and a trap, and you massacred their state garden because the wind rattled the branches?"

"Oh, stars," he groaned. "You are such a brat. I'm going to see Geneva. At least she will be helpful. Ish. Professional."

"That woman from before? She thinks you're mean. Maybe I should mention that fluffball thing you had as a pet. I mean, before you scared it into running away."

He was grinning now. She didn't at all think him truly happy, but at least he had found his armour again. "Why don't you get some slee—" He paused; colour washed from his face.

"Yeah, you don't look so hot yourself," Jaina was quick to retort. "I'm sure Krista would despair of us both. Hopefully, art will be kind to a world's champion and his little sister-in-law."

He lingered in the door. He still looked so—

"Talk to Geneva," she ordered him. "Find some food, and share lunch with me if you have time. Check on Miko, Krista, Clayra, and anyone else you know here. Be the Kavishka. Tonight we'll…I'll see you tonight, okay? We will get through today. And then we'll tackle tomorrow."

"I could quit," he suggested, sounding desperate. "They don't—"

"No, you can't."

"They don't really need me. Rafintair is dead."

"Pucijir's Order isn't." Jaina's voice was merciless. "You can't quit. You have to finish it, or Prophecy will find another victim. Clayra probably won't fill Sanar's shoes, but maybe Sanar's fifteen-year-old nephew can fill yours? Oh, and then there might be another woman—except she'll be a _child_, just like Nichyn. So you are going to godsdamned finish what you've started, Kyp Durron."

In the end, maybe the hard truth did what friendship couldn't. Kyp nodded shortly, and exited the room. No one would see past the Kavishka.

He looked like she felt.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Somewhere around noon, Kyp Durron walked down the hall. Krista looked up at the footsteps, surprised to see him. "I thought I better not move him, in case you came back," she said in greeting. Dejah had brought some blankets, which Krista had used to make a bed for Miko. When Kyp reached them, she stood. Her muscles protested—she hadn't moved much or often since she had rushed to Miko's side the previous night. She stretched her hands up in the air, and stood on her toes. "Ow." She smiled at Kyp. It wasn't as bright as usual, but more because of tiredness than distress. Krista hadn't been made to spend her life upset.

"I think— He hasn't woken up yet, but his heartbeat is getting steadier." Krista didn't mention how she often she had held her breath and listened to the beat of Miko's heart.

Kyp's face was too serious, but in Krista's experience it often was. "May I?" he asked, nodding at Miko.

"Oh, of course." Krista stepped to the side, relaxing her guard. "Force stuff?" she asked hopefully. "You know, Dejah thinks you can do magic, now. You may have single-handedly made the faithful-possibly-agnostic girl a heretic, or something. Or at least made her believe in Mujir again. Depends on how she rationalizes it. People can be funny like that."

Kyp crouched next to Miko. He stared at Krista's friend for a moment before taking Miko's pulse. It took another minute. Krista only barely bridled her patience. Kyp had his Force-using face on—now she knew where Miko got it. Not from the Hot Factory after all. She wondered what else Kyp had taught Miko.

_Okay, Harif, getting a little ahead of yourself_. Waiting and Krista Harif could be a dangerous combination. "How is he?" she asked. She bit down on her thumbnail. She had kicked the habit years ago, in her early teens. When Krista realized what she was doing, she spared a thought for her pretty nails (not all that pretty right now). When Kyp hesitated before speaking, she bit down again.

"He'll live," Kyp said shortly. Something hard flashed through his eyes as they met Krista's. "Keep a close eye on him, and if he gets a fever, you—"

Krista's hug seemed to take him completely by surprise. The sudden wetness of his tunic, and the vehemence behind Krista's sobbed _thank you_ couldn't have helped him regain his balance. Recognizing his stiffness, Krista got a hold of herself. She wiped her eyes dry the second she stepped back from him. "Thanks," she said, more subdued. "I mean, I know—he was your apprentice, so it wasn't—it wasn't for—but thank you."

Kyp's smile looked broken, but in Krista's experience Kyp Durron often was. "If you notice any changes for the worse, get someone to find me. Don't leave him alone."

"I won't." As if life was making up for Kyp's strange reaction, Krista noticed someone walking down the hall. "Dejah!" Krista burbled. Reluctant to be too far from Miko, she took a few happy skips toward Dejah before letting the fighter come to her.

Dejah looked concerned, as if maybe Krista had become unhinged because of make up withdrawal—which was silly, because Krista kept a kohl brush and lipstick in her pocket for just such an occasion, so she would be okay for another few hours at _least_. "What is wrong, Krista?"

Nothing. Absolutely nothing. Krista Harif was in love with the universe. "Miko is going to be okay," Krista told the _wonderful_ woman before her. Hardly able to contain herself, she threw her arms around Dejah. The fighter seemed almost as surprised as Kyp had been, but she relaxed and gingerly squeezed back. "He's going to be alright," Krista repeated into Dejah's shoulder.

Kyp left unnoticed.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Krista's relief was still ringing in Kyp's ears when he found Geneva. She had added a cot to her already very crowded office, so he stayed in the doorway. Geneva eyed him coolly from behind her desk. "Kavishka."

He set his mind on the coming months. "We have a lot of work to do."


	117. Ch49: The Final Act

**Chapter Forty-Nine: The Final Act**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"_No, no, no. By the end, I meant, uh...a heroic, uplifting way. See, I'm still optimistic. You're just thrown off a little by this gritty-looking eye-patch_."  
- Xander Harris, _Buffy the Vampire Slayer_, "End of Days"

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Nearly four months pass after 777. Mujir's Resistance fight many battles. The Kavishka observes many trials of the principle members of Pucijir's Order. There is no shortage of executions; many of them are enforced by the Kavishka.

Nearly four months pass. A young girl writes an account of Prophecy. The daughter of the first Kavishka survives her destruction. Sanar's lover and sister grieve, and wait. Prophecy is quiet, even as Vengeance rages; Prophecy waits, too.

Four months pass, and then Prophecy needs wait no longer.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Blood splattered across the floor. A body hit the ground; the corpse thudded once to the ground, and awkwardly rolled a few feet. The executioner wiped his weapon clean of blood on a nearby cloth.

Prophecy ended some time between Kyp's next two breaths, but he couldn't have said when he knew. Vengeance began to fade from its six year presence in his mind, though he wasn't sure if it disappeared suddenly with this last act of Vengeance, or if it had been slowly seeping away since Rafintair's death, and he just hadn't noticed. However and whenever it happened, it was finally ending—and quickly now.

"That's the last one," he told the woman beside him. Dejah had become a frequent companion and helpmate over these past months. Niha had, at least, chosen rightly there.

"Do you know where Jaina is?" he asked as he sheathed the Sildar.

Dejah gestured for two waiting soldiers to take the corpse. "Jaina Solo is spending the afternoon with Élin."

"Niha will be awfully disappointed when Jaina leaves, won't she?" Kyp enjoyed seeing the Mirese priestess uncomfortable. She had been far too calm about Sanar's sacrifice.

Dejah shook her head. "I think Élin may miss her a little more. The girl is only just becoming used to your friend's strange ways. Is Jaina going to leave soon?"

"Once I and Sanar are gone, I think she will have to return to her own life. She has certainly put it off long enough."

"You? But—"

"Let Jaina finish her discussion with Élin," Kyp interrupted. "But if you could get a message to her, please, to meet me in Sanar's room right after?"

Dejah nodded slowly. "I will tell her myself."

"Don't worry her, or mention anything I've said, Dejah," he warned her.

"No, of course not." Dejah hesitated. "What did you mean about Sanar and yourself?"

Kyp looked at her steadily. "You've been a good friend these past months, Dejah, but I would like you to go tell Jaina now."

The fighter frowned but nodded. "She shouldn't be more than an hour, I think."

"I will be with Sanar."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

These are the facts:

Approximately a year before 777, Devnos Klis and Lerasina Verili made a plan to save Sanar Klis. On 777, Lerasina Verili suffered something her doctors referred to as a psychotic episode. Some offered different explanations, chief among the dissenters being Nichyn Whilem and the patient herself. Lerasina's own psychologist came to agree with her patient that forces other than overwhelming emotional or psychological strain had caused the breakdown. Lerasina's mental state reflected more grief, confusion, and some elements of post-traumatic stress disorder than any kind of mental imbalance. This idea, despite the Verili parents' concern, gained support as no further episodes occurred.

On the other side of the galaxy, Sanar Klis too suffered a psychological blow, but one of staggering strength. For Sanar, there was no recovery. Kyp Durron continued as the Kavishka, now joined by Zekk and Jaina Solo, and with slow—and not entirely welcome—help from the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances.

These are the facts. They are well established, as facts may be.

Of course, there are always Mysteries, and there are always secrets to flesh out the facts.

There is always a final act, always some truth behind the facts.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_As it was:_

"_My sister," Devnos Klis told Lerasina, "will be forced to sacrifice herself. I would not risk you if her sacrifice led only to death. Instead, while saving our planet from Pucijir's Order, she will lose her soul. She will be offered no quarter, no mercy; she will share hell with those she fights. With the very worst of mortal beings."_

_Lerasina's face was pale. "But—can't—after her death, shouldn't her soul…?"_

"_You are very young, so I apologize that I have to tell you any of this, let alone drag you into it. There will be no justice. There are rules, much as Sanar's fate has already been inscribed in Prophecy."_

"_What, exactly, is going to happen?" Lerasina asked._

_He told her_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

As it is:

Jaina wished that she had felt it coming. She thought that she _should_ have known. Instead, she felt the loss of Sanar again, and then again more keenly, when she noticed Dejah's distress. "Everything alright?" she asked the fighter. Jaina kept her voice even.

"Oh. Yes." Dejah looked wide-eyed, so very intent on hiding the truth. It was all over. "He said to—the Kavishka said to finish your discussion." She nodded to Élin, who looked remarkably placid. "There is no hurry."

"Are you certain?"

Jaina was never quite sure if Dejah found fear or reassurance in her presence, since the fighter's discovery that Jaina had been resurrected. At the moment, Jaina thought it was a little more of the fear. "I—yes, he said it can wait."

"Thank you for bringing the message yourself, Dejah." Jaina tried not to be quite so strange. Dejah, after all, did not need to know that she and Élin had just been speaking of the afterlife.

Dejah made a swift escape. Élin watched her go; the novice's expression had returned to its awkwardly blatant consideration. "She was upset. Do you think that perhaps…?"

"I'm sorry, Élin, but I think we should cut our afternoon short," Jaina said abruptly. "I will…try to visit you tomorrow.

"Oh, yes, very well." Élin looked a little bewildered. Perhaps she had not figured it out, then; Jaina forgot, sometimes, that Niha's chosen was still very inexperienced.

"Niha does not have to know about your free time," Jaina suggested, grinning.

Élin smiled back a little too blankly to have properly grasped the reason for such discretion. "Would you— May I walk you to your destination?" she asked.

Jaina rolled her eyes and snatched her cane from the floor before Élin could try anything. "I can walk," she said. "By myself, even." She stood carefully, but didn't lean even a little too much on her cane. "Really. Kyp and Zekk need to mind their own business."

Élin looked doubtful. "You are not tired? Perhaps you should finish your tea first."

"No, I'm going," Jaina groused. "I don't need to _finish my tea_ until I have grey hair, _thank_ you."

"Are you going to be alright?" Élin asked.

This time, something in the girl's voice suggested her concern was not due to Jaina's continued ill health. Jaina sighed. Perhaps she had not overestimated Élin again after all. "What will be, will be, Élin. If you see Zekk in the next few hours, would you…?"

"I should like to walk with you, please, sister, all the same."

Jaina finally nodded. She was tired, though it had little to do with her slow recovery. "As you will. And then—"

"And then I will find Zekk, and still have time before Mother Niha knows I am free," Élin agreed. Before Jaina could protest, the heir hooked her arm through Jaina's. "Now," she said, quite obviously trying to distract Jaina from the support, "we were discussing this place you call the River, before one has completely crossed over."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"_I want to help," Lera said. "Is there any way?"_

_He hesitated only a second. "There is, but it would be dangerous."_

"_I don't care."_

"Very_ dangerous."_

_She set her chin and met his eyes. "I want to help. Tell me how."_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Sanar smiled when Kyp came to her room. "Hello, love. I did not expect you for hours yet. Is anything the matter?"

She looked exhausted; that she remained lying on the bed, instead of rising to greet him, supported his observation. Not once, in the past four months, had this version of Sanar Klis failed to ignore everything in favour of his presence. He must be tired, too; he couldn't relax at her underreaction, let alone appreciate it. He wished he could squint and imagine…

_Soon enough_, he chided himself.

"It's over, Sanar." He sounded old. At least, he thought with a spark of his more typical humour, he wasn't using a cane. "The Resistance is on its own now. There is nothing more the Kavishka can do here."

She tilted her head to the side. He had a feeling that meant she was Listening Very Carefully. He missed her boredom.

"How are you feeling?" he asked.

"I am—" She paused, and then opted for honesty. "I am feeling a little unwell," she admitted.

He sighed. "Yeah. Sanar—" He stopped. "May I sit next to you? I'm not feeling so great myself."

She looked instantly more alert. "I can—"

"No, no." He smiled, one side of his mouth curling more than the other. "I'm just tired."

Her smile was just a little too sad. She moved over the left side of the bed, and patted the vacated area. "Take a load off."

Kyp stretched out next to her. He noticed her slip—they happened occasionally. He stared at the ceiling for a long moment. "You know that I always loved you," he said. "Right? Never minding Prophecy?"

Sanar's placid expression faltered. "I know."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"_This isn't dangerous like crossing a busy street, where you get hurt if you aren't careful and you end up with a broken arm." Devnos' voice brooked no mercy. "There is a very small chance that it will work, and even if it does, you will have to pay a price for being a part of it."_

"_Devnos Klis, if you_ are _real, I demand that you tell me so that I can decide for myself."_

_A moment passed. "This goes against Prophecy—"_

"_Tell me."_

"_I will, if you let me," he snapped. "Even this conversation could be dangerous, so I can…whatever you decide, you won't remember this conversation once you've decided. Once you choose, you won't know how to back out."_

_She took a shaky breath. "Tell me."_

_So he did_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Three days after her release from the hospital, Lera was spending the day at the Ryms' house. She had spent the first half of it Being Fine. That night, Shanya and Timmis were still slow to start making dinner. Lera excused herself to the living room before they could entreat her to join them. Nichyn shadowed her; Arelyk ran to find some 'vids. Apparently, she would spend her first week of freedom relaxing.

"They mean well," Nichyn offered.

She wasn't quite able to stifle her snort. "They do _mean_ it," she agreed. "If you don't mind, I'm going to take a few minutes to regroup." She took a datapad out of her pocket, and waved it at a hoverchair.

Nichyn looked torn between fear and relief. "You're writing again?"

She shrugged, turning the datapad over in her hands. "I'm trying." She gave him a fleeting smile. "With my right hand, don't worry."

"Do you want me to…? I can help Arelyk, if you would rather."

She took his hand and pulled him to the couch. "Look, you're just going to worry if you leave, so you may as well stay." She sprawled across half of the sofa. "Take a load off."

He sat. Lera wrote, slowly, with her right hand.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Lera agreed. And then she forgot. For quite some time, she forgot even that there had been anything to lose. She remembered a plan, you see. Devnos performed again—explained some other, safer plan to help Sanar. Not remembering the truth, she agreed again. She recalled only a letter that needed to be transcribed over the course of many months. When the letter was finished, she believed her part to have ended with it._

_Facts are the bones; secrets are the flesh_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina threw the door open, causing Kyp to startle awake. "You're late," he grumbled. "No, wait." He thought. "I told Dejah to make you wait. You're early."

The Jedi waved goodbye to Élin, and then made her still-too-slow way into the room. Despite her cane and slow recuperation, her voice was crisp. "Kyp, I didn't listen to you when you were my master; I'm not going to listen when you're being an idiot." She hovered at the foot of the bed. "How is Sanar?" she asked nervously.

He sighed and sat up. "Jaina, sit down, please. The last thing we need is you collapsing. It'd really ruin the epic ending. And Sanar is…" He looked to where Sanar lay. Her eyelashes had fluttered, just a little, when the door had hit the wall. Otherwise, there was no sign of consciousness. "She's pretty tired."

"Aren't we all, these days," Jaina grumbled. "Look at us, my _parents_ are more spry some days."

"Speak for yourself." Kyp aimed for a grin. One side of his mouth worked better than the other. "_I_ don't use a cane."

She made a face. "I'm not the one in bed in the middle of the day. With grey hair." Jaina looked as if she would continue when she suddenly froze. "Kyp, why are you bed? Were you—you were asleep?"

"I'm pretty tired, too," he said. "What time is it?"

_You_, her expression seemed to say, _are so not getting out of talking_. She glanced at her chrono. "Fifteen hundred, more or less. Pretty late for beauty sleep, however much you need it. Are you doing something stupid, Durron?"

He gave her his most disarming smirk. "Always, Solo."

"Right, stupid question."

"Prophecy ends today," he murmured.

Jaina nodded. "Yeah, I—I thought so, considering Dejah's message. She didn't say anything," Jaina added at his frown. "But she was even more nervous than usual, and the timing is about what you said. I figured it out."

"And let me guess: you wouldn't mind taking a nap, either."

Jaina's dark eyes dominated her pale face. "Maybe my bond with Sanar wasn't as completely severed as we thought."

"I was worried about that."

"Me, too." She smiled strangely at him. "We could have worried together."

"I'm sorry," he said. "I suppose I should have told you. I've made certain that only two of us will die today. Someone has to make sure the holovid is at least half real."

"Did you do something stupid, Durron?"

"Always." When she didn't smile, he did. "Relax, Solo. This was less stupid than usual." She looked unconvinced. "I had some leftover bargaining power from Miko. What Prophecy wouldn't do for Sanar, I intend to make It do for my friends."

"Then why are you talking like you're going to die, too?"

"That was the deal, Jay," he said. "From the very beginning. Prophecy brought back the Kavishka. This isn't even my real body—it could never last. Prophecy is over, and so am I."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_The message Lera scribed was real. Lera knew she had agreed to help, of course, so her consciousness required some kind of distraction. But the letter was real, despite its necessary part in trickery._

_It did not, however, offer any way for Sanar Klis to survive her role in Prophecy_.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

At half past three, Kyp disappeared. Sanar, who had passed in her sleep a few minutes before Kyp, was left on the bed with only the Sildar.

Jaina stared at the sword for several long minutes. Someone knocked on the door; she ignored them. She had locked the crowd out, but they were getting impatient. Finally, she walked to the side of the bed. (She left her cane leaning against the wall.) She didn't touch Sanar. Her hand hovered over where Kyp had lain—she could still feel the faintest trace of him, like a phantom limb—before it dropped to the Sildar.

Someone—Zekk—threw the door open. It hit the wall, and bounced back. "Jaina."

Her fingers slipped around the sword: one set on the grip, one on the blade. She held it before her. "They're gone," she said. She almost didn't recognize her own voice. "It's just a sword now. See?" She flicked her thumb across the edge, and then held her hand out so that he could see the small cut. "Nothing."

"You're still here," he breathed.

She looked up at him. "Y-yes." Her voice was thick. "I am, aren't I?"

All the breath left Zekk's lungs. "Thank the Force. I thought…"

"Yeah. Me, too." She had _thought_—and she didn't want to die, but…. "Can you…can you tell the others? Please? I just—I need—"

Zekk swallowed. "Yeah, of course. Right away." He started to turn, then paused. "Are you alright?"

_No_. "I will be. Zekk, please?"

He lingered another moment before leaving. He shut the door behind him.

Jaina waited until three minutes had passed. When she was certain that no one would interrupt, Jaina cried.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kyp was barely in the River before he was on Death's shore. He looked, looked to the ignorance of everything and everyone else around him, but he couldn't see Sanar.

Kyp couldn't see Sanar anywhere.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_On 777, Devnos and Lera's plan went into effect:_

_Lera inhaled, and then—_

_**(and then the burn was there and she remembered the plan but the pain threatened to tear the truth from her mind all over again)**_

—_ohohohohoh_Force.

_**(She remembered, though, she—)**_

_Lera only ever wanted to do the right thing_.

_**(She didn't run from the pain. Devnos hadn't been entirely truthful, of course: she could have backed out. The decision lay before her, again, plain as the eye could see. She just had to turn her head, and the agony would have disappeared. She would forget, and be safe. She could have changed her mind.)**_

_She tried to exhale, but that didn't work quite right, and then she stopped thinking._

_**(Lera had made her choice.)**_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Lera's fingers lost all feeling. Her datapad clattered to the floor. Nichyn was already worried, and now starting to panic, but she didn't see or hear him.

Quite suddenly, her memory was being glued back together, filling gaps she hadn't known were there and—for a second, her head _hurt so kriffing much_ and then she—

And then Lera remembered everything.

When she burst into tears, it occurred to her that this wouldn't reassure the Ryms.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Kyp had almost given up all hope when he turned around. Only then, instead of a very long eternity, he saw a blur before his eyes were full of Sanar Klis.

"'Bout time you got here," she said when she had pulled back. "Gods. How long does it take to chop a few heads, _Kavishka_?"

He didn't give her a chance to say much more—for the moment, anyway, he had _missed_ her. But he really had to kiss her, and even Sanar Klis found it difficult to throw insults and kiss at the same time. Usually. (This time.)

When _he_ withdrew, he was gratified to see her dazed expression. He couldn't stop smiling. "So," he said, "what's next?"

She shook her head, and then grinned. Her expression looked distinctly evil. He wanted to kiss her again. "Well, you could say hello to my father."

The kissing, he thought, might have to wait until a little bit further into eternity.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Devnos was there, and his pain—_

_**(he had told her: we have to take the share, Lera, you and I)**_

Just like her own. Oh…

_**(three people to hold the Sildar, through such plots and plans)**_

_Lera wasn't aware of anything—not her friends' panic, or Shanya's desperation, or Nichyn's grim terror._

_**(gods she hoped this worked)**_

_Lera only—_

_**(Sanar took the brunt, Lera knew that, Sanar took the brunt and then Devnos tried to make up for it, but still she felt)**_

(shh quiet

_**(this was what dying felt like)**_

no just—but shh

_**(Lera made her choice)**_

surrender just

**(**_**gods, gods, gods, godsgodsgodsgodsForce it had to work but)**_

quiet

_**(gods it hurt)**_

surrender)

_**(The Sildar reached into Sanar, and into Devnos, and into a teenage girl, and Sanar Klis did not die. The Sildar's criteria would be met—in time.)**_

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

"Don't," Lera told Nichyn, seconds before he was going to yell for Shanya. "I'm fine. Really." She smiled, incandescent through the tears.

Nichyn hesitated, obviously remembering the adults' reactions to his previous silence. "Lera…"

"No," she said. "It's—I just _remembered_, Nichyn. We won." She laughed, unable to help it. "We won. Everything went _exactly_ as planned."

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Devnos' message:

_Sanar,_

_By now, I hope, you have figured out what Vengeance demands of the Kavishka. The hidden-but-not-secret clause to the Sildar's use, if you will. If the Na'Lein woman he loves does not return his affection, the Sildar will reject him and Prophecy will fall apart. I have never been an optimist, and I fear that Prophecy will find a way to manipulate even you._

_Whatever you may feel for the replacement Kavishka is not the problem, sister. What will be, will be, and I expect you to be as foolish, stubborn, and self-destructive in love as you have been in all else. That part is all on you. In any case, it is an inescapable fact of the Sildar's requirements, and perhaps of the Klis legacy._

_The reason I am risking my soul and the safety of this letter's scribe is to do with a far more secret aspect of Vengeance's deal with Prophecy. My hope in writing to you is that, caught in the storm's eye as you are, this message will remain unseen and unstopped by Prophecy. I cannot say much more than I have, however, because then I know my chance would be lost forever. I caution you, therefore, only to practice all caution and to do nothing contrary to what you believe is absolutely right. As for myself, I will continue and act as I can to protect you. I have many years to make up for, as I'm sure you would remind me._

_Choose your own fate, Sanar._

_Love,_

_Your brother_.

.

The fate of the Sildar has always been the same: damnation, forever and aye. But few people know Prophecy and Vengeance's workings as well as Devnos Klis did.

This is whatever you make it.

(Devnos Klis made it hope.)

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

_Destiny may take thy part,__  
And may thy fears fulfil;__  
But think that we__  
Are but turned aside to sleep;__  
They who one another keep  
Alive, ne'er parted be._

- "Song" by John Donne

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

.

This is the last chapter of _In the Morning_. There will be one more update for the trilogy's epilogue. Thanks for reading!


	118. ALWAYS: The Holo Vid

**ALWAYS: The Holo-Vid**

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Queen Mother Tenel Ka Chume Ta' Djo never married, instead choosing to tie herself to her empire. Her Majesty campaigned throughout her life to strengthen ties between her consortium and the Galactic Federation of Free Alliances. A second Jedi academy was founded on Gallinore ten years after Tenel Ka's coronation. Intergalactically, the Hapes Consortium was as influential and powerful as it had ever been, and of particular aid to their ally as the GFFA was slowly piecing itself together. The consortium never joined the GFFA itself, but became one of its most respected and loyal allies.

Domestically, however, Tenel Ka's reign faced a number of complications. A warrior of honour, Tenel Ka's political movements and reforms were not always well received at the onset. Her enemies were many, and all too prepared to accuse her of witchcraft; the worst of her rivals were found in her own family tree, especially amongst the more traditional members. Despite her inevitable opponents, Tenel Ka enjoyed the respect of her public in most matters, for she was known as a queen of integrity and compassion. When she introduced increasing reforms to do with gender treatment, however, public opinion became far more extreme in its divisions. Tenel Ka's reign saw civil conflict on some planets and stern continuation of tradition on others. Tenel Ka's reforms touched upon an already growing movement among her people, and protests occurred near constantly on the planets Hapes and Gallinore, as well as on others. Although few planets hit a critical point, this trouble lasted most of Tenel Ka's reign.

Although a queen, Tenel Ka died a warrior's death while helping the GFFA fight the First Yuuzhan Vong War, sixty-five years after her coronation. A squadron of the Vong blew up the ship from which the Queen Mother had been commanding her fleet. Victory came fifteen minutes later—the first of a flood of triumphs for the vengeance- and grief-driven Hapans. Tenel Ka knew nothing of this as she crossed the River. Jacen Solo waited for her on the shore.

As she had been unmarried and planned to continue as such, Tenel Ka had adopted a Dathomiri orphan girl of some relation. Allana trained with warriors, philosophers, Jedi, and foreign students before reuniting full-time with her mother. Allana took an increasing leadership role on Hapes, and eventually in the entire consortium. She faced an average of five serious assassination attempts per year. On the tenth anniversary of her coronation, Allana passed laws against gender discrimination in all its forms, and initiated legislation to ensure education and employment opportunities for men. Later historians dubbed Allana's reign as the Great Age of Equality. When Allana was assassinated in her middle age, her own daughter was named Queen Mother without dispute.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Jaina Solo and Zekk married nearly four years after Kyp and Sanar's deaths. They took three of those years at a very moderated pace in order to deal with the issues in their relationship. In that time, and throughout their marriage, Jaina and Zekk fought and made up, separated and reunited, cried and laughed, and always loved, 'til death did they part.

Jaina survived Sanar's destruction, and even her sister's death. She remained as strange as her resurrection had ever made her, though she became better at hiding it for the sake of those around her. She was eventually considered more eccentric than disturbing. Jaina was one of the key founders of the post-war Jedi Order, much as her uncle had been so many years before. Leia Organa and Han Solo were similarly indispensable. Jaina, however, was not a permanent fixture in the Gallinore Jedi academy—which would become her home in later years—for some time. Instead, she was deeply involved in GFFA reconstruction efforts, both as a soldier and as a (somewhat uncomfortable) peacemaker. It wasn't until her late fifties that she joined her husband as a Jedi Master teaching in the academy. She enjoyed bewildering the apprentices, and terrifying them with her tales of the River. They never knew of her personal turmoil on the topic. Before and during her time at the temple, Jaina took several particular apprentices. Some of them stayed truer to the path than others. Jaina never forgot that redemption was always possible, even if the clock was necessarily ticking. Not every Dark Jedi was Zekk.

Zekk's path never strayed far from redemption. Pitfalls were plenty, and so the hard-won victories were more appreciated. The GFFA did not quickly forget his debt, although many forgave the once-Lord Onyx sooner than Zekk himself did. His history prohibited him from any active military role; further, many powerful people became suspicious when he came too close to a war, or to a leaderless rebellion. He was not often allowed to follow Jaina's reconstruction path; instead, he usually helped with the aftermath. He became a more than capable healer. Nearly twelve years after the Second Imperial War, Zekk took his first apprentice. As one apprentice became a Jedi Knight without any stain, and then another, Zekk became spoken of more as a Jedi Healer than as a former Sith. When he was forty-seven, the Gallinore Jedi academy officially designated him as a Jedi Master, and offered him a full-time position teaching there. Through this, barriers created to keep him away from military and peacekeeping situations were gradually dropped. One of Zekk's apprentices turned to the Dark side, leading to a revolution (quickly put down), and to the apprentice's death (who showed no hint of remorse, let alone redemption). Zekk was devastated by the blow, but not a single Jedi questioned Zekk's own character. Soon after, Jaina joined her husband at the academy.

Zekk died just shy of his eightieth year. One of Zekk's apprentices wrote in her journal that she suspected health repercussions of devoting himself to Darkness so long ago may have brought Zekk's death sooner than it would have otherwise been. All other accounts suggest a natural death. Jaina woke in the middle of the night to find her husband gone, in body and spirit. No one ever saw her cry for him. (This is not to say that she did not cry—only that no one ever saw it. No one—from her younger brother, to her apprentices, to her husband—saw her cry for Sanar, either.)

Jaina stayed on at the academy eight years after her husband's death; each day saw her grow stranger than ever. The rumours ran wild. One day, without any warning, she left the academy for Na'Lein'yhpaon. Accounts of her time there are minimal, and often surrounded by myth. The only story that cannot be immediately discounted is this: that a woman matching Jaina's description was seen in a town five hours from Brin's ruins. This woman did not seem to be a foreigner, but acted in such an odd manner that she drew attention. (A few people much later spoke of wisdom, teachings, and magic, but there is no support for this.) This woman spent the afternoon in the town before walking into the wilderness—toward Brin. She told the gatekeeper that she was going to see her sister.

Barring myth and some Jedi legends (of which there are surprisingly many), Jaina Solo was never seen again this side of the River.

Jaina and Zekk were survived by their son, daughter, grandchildren, and apprentices.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Veras and Braun Yd left Na'Lein'yhpaon two months after the revolution. They never returned.

The Yds lived long lives; they had each other, four children, a ship, their friends, and the stars. They never looked back.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Miko Reglia recovered from his wounds, and was returned to perfect health upon Kyp Durron's death. Miko and Krista Harif returned to the GFFA not long after his recovery, but they maintained contact with NLY. Over the years, they joined numerous GFFA peacekeeping and diplomatic missions to the planet; more than once, they visited through less official channels to help. They remained close with Dejah Salin.

Krista's brothers very nearly turned her over to a monastery after her two-year disappearing act. She might have been a _little_ too gleeful when she informed them that planet-saviours were to be adored, not banished, and if they ever forgot it she would "sic her Dark side boyfriend on them." Words were exchanged, and Cel had Miko fully investigated before any kind of resolution came on that front; the monastery was forgotten. Krista and Miko dated for two years before becoming engaged. Krista said she decided to marry Miko when he turned down a "chick flick" with her to go to her brothers' long-standing sports night. Miko and Krista were married a week after their engagement.

Krista Reglia (née Harif) left the GFFA Intelligence Agency seven years after returning from NLY. She took an odd assortment of jobs—from smuggling, to legal transport, to mid-level coordinator at the Yavin IV Jedi academy. She eventually took a part-time position as social coordinator for the president of Yavin, allowing her to split her time between work and family. When Krista and Miko's daughter was eight, Krista taught at the Yavin IV academy on intelligence missions. She never once helped anyone with their meditation. (She did, however, have a reputation as the academy matchmaker.)

Miko Reglia played a vital role in reconstructing the fragmented Jedi Order. He was most connected to the Yavin IV academy, where he taught many of the younger apprentices in their introduction to Jedi life and skills. Unlike Zekk, Miko's debt was considered to be paid at the end of the Second Imperial War; although not forgotten, Miko's file was sealed three years after the war. Jedi legends touch upon the subject, but the most common scribe of Miko's Dark past is the Jedi Master himself. Miko Reglia actively involved himself in the rehabilitation of the Dark Jedi with whom he had once formed ranks. He was a significant contributor to the post-war Jedi Order's reputation as redemption-seekers. Miko, like Zekk, never forgot.

When Miko was in his late sixties, he experienced and discarded a nightmare that featured his death. He wrote of it in a later discovered journal, but only told his wife, and in an offhanded manner. It has been suggested that Krista took this dream more seriously than her husband did, despite her inclination toward concrete matters. Two years later, Krista and Miko led a training mission on the Outer Rim. Half of the details of the disastrous week are still unsubstantiated—instead conflicting, repressed, or exaggerated by the few survivors. The Jedi Master, his wife, and a group of several apprentices were ambushed by a scouting party of aliens that were only much later recognized as the Yuuzhan Vong. Krista Harif died first—that is one of the few confirmed facts, as she sacrificed herself while covering the others' initial retreat. She was captured, and the Jedi sensed her death three days later. Despite her husband's desperate attempts to find the Vong's camp, and later Jedi survey missions, Krista Reglia's body was never found.

The same day, the Jedi's rescue transport arrived—just in time for the 'Vong to attack once again. Miko and the two most senior apprentices covered the retreat; only one of these apprentices made it onto the Jedi ship. The second died before the ship had closed its hatch; Miko joined his wife not quite a day later—hardly, one student suggested, before he had even managed to start grieving for her. Krista, of course, had gone first—just as she had vowed so many years before. The Jedi survivors were pursued in space, but despite significant damage done to the ship, they all escaped.

The attack hit the Jedi hard, and even the many years between the Reglias' deaths and the 'Vong invasion did not make them forget. The surviving then-senior apprentice was stationed on Sernpidal during the first full-scale Vong attack; he recognized the aliens immediately. Adrea Reglia—by then in her late 30's—distinguished herself as a force to be reckoned with during the war, both as a Jedi Knight and as a commander. She survived the war to see her parents' retribution, and lived a long and otherwise happy life.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Geneva and Dachien Tal were assassinated five months after 777. Before her death, Geneva had been well on her way to creating a military-style government in order to guarantee stability, and to ensure that Pucijir's Order could not take power once again. Her death destroyed any such control. Cerile, Geneva's friend and second-in-command, declared herself leader of the Resistance. Mother Niha threw her weight behind Cerile, and it seemed official. Instead, first one of Geneva's generals claimed the leadership position rightfully belonged to her; next, a radical faction of excommunicated Mirese priestesses declared Mujir's Resistance to be heretical and too submissive to the continuing patriarchy. The Resistance soon became embroiled in a war against its own sisters. The remnants of Pucijir's Order were not the only ones to take advantage of the MR's distraction. There was also an ever growing movement of support for a moderate, secular patriarchy.

Cerile won control of the Na'Lein government in 781, but victory came in the form of a coalition government with the aforementioned secular conservative party, to whom she was forced to make concessions. The first stable post-revolution government had two leaders: one man and one woman, the two of whom were to act jointly. It took decades (some said centuries) for the tension to subside to safe levels.

Geneva Tal's role in the MR was forgotten for many years, replaced with the strong image of Cerile and Niha's post-777 partnership. At best, decades after Cerile's death, the lines between Cerile and Geneva blurred together, so that the woman who created a new Na'Lein order took on some of Geneva's qualities. Two centuries after Geneva's death, MR history underwent a revival, bringing Geneva back into her own spotlight. Some legends tie her to the Resistance heroine Sanar Klis as a sister or aunt.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Dejah Salin continued to fight with Mujir's Resistance. When inner-group squabbling began, Dejah sided with the more moderate political faction under Cerile. Dejah survived the four years of war that came immediately after the revolution. She lived with and cared for her cousin, Teigra Bel, until Teigra died in one of the many battles that followed 777. Dejah and Teigra's relationship, while not returned to what it had been, was healing up to her death. When the government had stabilized, Dejah left the army to spend two years at a new Mirese abbey. She later returned to Quatroc, taking a middle-level position in the liaison office between Na'Lein'yhpaon and the GFFA. She started a friendship with one of the male GFFA ambassador's aides, but no further relationship was ever pursued.

Dejah died in her late forties, when she stepped into the path of an assassin's blaster fire, thus saving the lives of the newly elected (Mirese Party candidate) Na'Lein governor and his wife. Nichyn Whilem honoured her sacrifice with a state funeral, and the Order of Bravery.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Mother Niha remained a force to be reckoned with even beyond her death. As the last hidden—and first open—Mirese priestess in seven centuries, she shaped the role played by the Mirese religion for generations to come.

Niha died thirteen years after 777. As a high priestess who never backed down, never shied away from adversity or others' opinions, and as a woman who never took her eyes off of the MR's goals, the Niha of history has not been exaggerated in her importance to her time.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The day after 777, Élin stepped out of the Mirese abbey for the first time in over a decade. She preferred to stay above ground whenever possible after that.

Élin, still quite young at the time, did not immediately succeed Niha after the high priestess' death. She did, however, work closely with the next high priestess, whom she called "sister" rather than "mother." Élin became the Mirese priestess to Quatroc in her thirty-fifth year. As a direct result of her placement, Élin was increasingly called upon by government leaders for consultation. She was particularly close with Nichyn Whilem and his wife.

Élin took the position of high priestess later in her life than Niha had intended; having helped with counsel and negotiations in a time of great conflict, Niha's heir also accomplished more than anyone except Niha herself had expected.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Very little is known about Isra's fate after 777, and it has been revealed only very gradually to historians. Several documents suggested that Geneva Tal had her arrested and nearly executed more than once. For some time, historians attributed to Isra writings about an unnamed traitor, who was locked away and forgotten about in the chaos following Geneva's death. Later research, however, contradicted this. Instead, previously hidden documents revealed a close working relationship with Cerile, which absolutely refuted the idea that Isra had rotted in a prison. Over the years, historians began to believe that Isra played a vital, leading role in Cerile's post-war intelligence body. Although Isra appears to have mostly worked "off the books," historians generally consider Isra and "Alarica"—Cerile's rarely written of, underground right-hand woman—to be one and the same.

In 793, all mention of Alarica disappears. Given the spotty nature of any information on this woman, it is not known if Isra switched pseudonyms, if further documents still wait to be found, or if this is the end of all clues.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Clayra and Gantik Whilem remained married for the rest of their lives. Their economic position suffered no small amount in the early post-revolution years; by the year 785, however, the Whilems were much closer in prestige to what they had been. This restored wealth is believed to be due, at least in part, to the protection of Clayra's maiden name, and Gantik's increased role as the once-MR's executioner.

Gantik died first, of age-related illness. Clayra died several months later.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

Lera Verili never saw Devnos Klis again after Sanar's death, but his nephew was another matter entirely. Lera and Nichyn Whilem remained (almost) inseparable throughout their lives. Nichyn studied political science and government at a nearby university for two years before returning to his native planet. Lera remained behind for some years, pursuing a degree in political history, and a minor in GFFA studies. She continued writing, and lived with her mother after her parents' divorce.

Nichyn returned to NLY nearly a decade after he had left. He joined his family at their Quatroc home, and became involved in the Mirese Party. Although he started at the very bottom of the political chain, no one ever denied that his family's background helped him succeed far more quickly than other men in the ever-suspicious MP.

Lera published two novels in her lifetime. The first had a page count in the thousands, and detailed the story of a Na'Lein family through fifty years before, and twenty years after, 777. It received wide critical acclaim, and was said to have inspired greater support from the GFFA lay person for the politically unstable NLY. Her second book was a heavy revised but honest account of the events of 777 as seen by Kyp, Sanar, Devnos, and herself. It was astoundingly unsuccessful; critics slammed the author for following up her first novel with such an unrealistic melodrama.

When Nichyn died, he was in his late sixties, married to Lera with children, and the greatly beloved (and much hated) leader of Na'Lein'yhpaon. Lera died twenty years after her husband as an influential voice in Na'Lein politics, and as a more-or-less acknowledged Na'Lein lady. History makes only the vaguest of references to the difficulties she experienced as a _khalen_ for much of her Na'Lein life. Her children, during their lives and after their parents' deaths, were treated as Na'Lein men and women despite Lera's status, and lived up to the Klis/Whilem legacy. None of them experienced Sanar or Devnos' fates.

What happened between 777 and Lera's death, besides these basic details, is another story entirely.

_**-x-x-x-x-x-**_

The Na'Lein century following 777 was a tumultuous one, broken up by numerous conflicts and plagued by political instability. The former Mujir's Resistance took control of government, sometimes to better effect than to other times. What started as a dictatorship transformed into a system with two leaders (one from the MP, and one from another party) and a series of governors.

Culturally speaking, the Pirese religion was banned. Many people—some women as well as men—continued to practice it anyway. Female leaders were 125% more likely to be assassinated than male leaders, even disregarding their political party of origin. Mirese temples were desecrated, burned, and raided; most abbeys began to fight back after just a few months of trying to influence the perpetrators. But slowly—very, very slowly, amongst wars and murders and Pirese revivals—the planet started to heal.

And then one day, many, many years after 777, Vengeance slipped away.

**_-x-x-x-x-x-_**

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Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! I hope you enjoyed this trilogy :D

- Trickster-jz


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